To Where You Are
by MarblePlum
Summary: When you leave some things, you leave someone. The treasure chest reveals a life lived and cherished. Memorial fic for J.T.
1. Chapter 1

**TO WHERE YOU ARE**

Hello! Well, ever since I heard about the events surrounding J.T.'s death (I was spoiled a few months before it actually happened), I was dreading it, and dreading it. He was/is my favorite character on DTNG, although I like everybody. It actually took me awhile to watch both Rock This Town and The Bitterest Pill. I cried a lot, then I watched some reruns and got teary-eyed, but enough about me. :) Overall, I thought the writers did J.T. justice in these two episodes. However, I wanted to do something else too, especially since some other J.T. relationships, particularly the ones he had with Paige and Toby, could've gotten more time. The writers would probably do a better job with that, but I am going to try.

In any case, this is a strange story, because I'm centering it on J.T. and Liberty's twelve-year old son, who I've named Zachary or Zack, as he's commonly referred to in the story. That's not the strange part. :P While it follows Zack, each chapter bleeds into a TNG character's present day life, eleven years after J.T.'s death. That means you'll get Zack's POV, and then it'll shift to that of Liberty's or Manny's or whoever. The link is essentially the Jiberty treasure chest items (prepared by Liberty in Total Eclipse of the Heart) Zack receives on his twelfth birthday, using each item to make connections. Hopefully, this isn't confusing. Each J.T. friend gets a chapter to themselves, except for Liberty, who gets two. There's also Emma, Toby, Manny, Danny, Mia, and Paige. Other DTNG characters show up, sporadically. Clueless word...yea! Lol.

I truly hope that this story showcases why J.T. is my favorite, and who he is as a character: loyal, charming, protective, entertaining, etc. The sarcastic class clown who became more compassionate as the years go by, and the guy who had as much heart as he did humor.

The chapters are named after popular songs, no theme like in the other stories I've written. There's quite a few songs in this, and I'll attribute them to the artists. I don't own anything Degrassi. Thank you.

_Who can say for certain_

_Maybe you're still here_

_I feel you all around me_

_Your memory's so clear_

_Deep in the stillness_

_I can hear you speak_

_You're still an inspiration_

_Can it be_

_That you are mine_

_Forever love_

_And you are watching over me from up above_

_Fly me up to where you are_

_Beyond the distant star_

_I wish upon tonight_

_To see you smile_

_If only for awhile_

_to know you're there_

_A breath away's not far_

_To where you are_

_Are you gently sleeping_

_Here inside my dreams_

_And isn't faith believing_

_All powers can't be seen_

_As my heart holds you_

_Just one beat away_

_I cherish all you gave me_

_Everyday_

_Cause you are mine_

_Forever love_

_Watching me from up above_

_And I believe_

_That angels breathe_

_And that love will live on and never leave_

_Fly me up to where you are_

_Beyond the distant star_

_I wish upon tonight_

_To see you smile_

_If only for awhile_

_To know you're there_

_A breath away's not far_

_To where you are_

_I know you're there_

_A breath away's not far_

_To where you are._

**To Where You Are is the property of Josh Groban.**

**I Found Love is the property of Free Design.**

"Zachary Crewe, please report to the principal's office!" beams a voice from the school intercom. "Zachary Crewe!"

Zack rolls his eyes, turns his basketball cap backwards. Principal Tanglewood always made his name sound so urgent; he'd figure he'd sound tired of saying it by now. He knew the layout of Tanglewood's office to a tee, even where he hid those not-so-secret hall passes. Propping open his locker, papers spill out onto his sneakers.

"Don't you ever clean that?" says a voice behind him.

He turns to see his classmate, Veronica Cruz, entering something into her Blackberry. Her dad owned a chain of coffee shops in Seattle, so in other words, she was always going to be well-off unless the businesses went bust. He's pretty sure that a twelve-year old shouldn't be drinking that many cappucinos, though, with an electronic device glued to her fingers at all times.

"Loosen up," says Zack.

"That mantra's getting really old," replies Veronica. "Some of us want to go to Berkeley, or Yale, or anywhere with a decent medical program."

"And some of us would rather watch Jim Carrey talk out of his butt," says Zack, beaming. "Marathon at Paul's tonight...you coming?"

"Student council," says Veronica, glaring at him. "Unlike you, I choose to exercise my potential. I don't goof off."

"Carrey finally won that Oscar so it's a celebration," counters Zack.

"Whatever, call it what you want," waves off Veronica.

"A fine evening of cinema. Is that more to the Harring Junior High School junior class president's liking?"

"It'll do," answers Veronica. "Why do you always wear your hat backwards?"

"Don't know. Instinct, I guess."

It really is an instinct, that and totally owning the pavement when he skateboarded. Well, someone told him that athletes come to their talent naturally, so perhaps that's why.

Zack shrugs. "Tanglewood calls."

He heads down the hall, nods at the secretary who shakes her head at him then points to the door. Opening the door, he views Tanglewood peering down at a folder, with a lot of pink slips. Ugh, those disciplinary write-ups.

"Am I getting fired from school?" says Zack.

"Sit down, Zack," says Mr. Tanglewood, sharply, his grey toupee shifting to the side a little.

Zack holds back a laugh, takes the usual seat.

"I still don't get it," groans Mr. Tanglewood. "Your test scores are exemplary, but you don't participate in class. We've confiscated a collection of rather odd things, all of which are prohibited in the school code of conduct..."

"Examples?" prods Zack. "I swear, the blow-up doll was a flotation device in case the school flooded..."

Mr. Tanglewood clears his throat. "That...we don't speak of that."

"Yeah, probably shouldn't have put that in your car when your wife was touring the grounds, but you fondling it didn't exactly help."

"I was...was trying to move it!" protests Mr. Tanglewood.

"Fine," says Zack, raising an eyebrow.

"Anyway," says Mr. Tanglewood, clearing his throat. "Yesterday, Mrs. Daniels took this away from you in history class."

He pulls out a drawer, tosses something across his desk.

"Easy, sir," cautions Zack, picking it up. "This is mint condition. And I needed it for the assignment."

"Who needs a comic book for an assignment?" argues Mr. Tanglewood. "I'm not an idiot."

"Neither am I, sir," says Zack, strongly. "It...it was my dad's. _The Crimson Kid._"

"_Was_ your dad's? As far as I know, your dad's alive, toiling away at the pawn shop, actually being productive, unlike his son."

Zack's cheeks start to burn. Tanglewood didn't know the half of it. It wasn't his stupid idea to do a family tree, fill out the names on each branch. He wanted to put in Christopher Crewe's name. Chris Crewe is respected, liked by everyone, nearly as much as his wife Lindsay. But part of it felt...I don't know, dishonest, thinks Zack, leaning back in the chair. Adoption doesn't erase all ties, does it?

"I'm...I'm adopted," whispers Zack.

"What?" says Mr. Tanglewood. "Speak up."

"I'm adopted, alright?" exclaims Zack. "That's my dad's comic book, and I don't have much from him...or my mom. I got this freakin' chest thing and...that's it."

Mr. Tanglewood drops his head, folds his arms, then gazes at Zack.

"My...my apologies," says Mr. Tanglewood, quietly. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to excuse all these write-ups. You skipped class yesterday, home ec."

"I suck at sewing," says Zack. "Can't make a decent pillow. It's lame. Guys can't sew, anyways."

"Good Lord, that's the type of comment that shows that you do need to be in that class," chides Mr. Tanglewood. "Get to class, and you've got three weeks detention."

"Three weeks!"

"Yes, three weeks."

Zack massages his forehead. Three weeks is a pretty long haul, but he knows he'd get worse at home. Chris Crewe was a big disciplinarian. Great, something to look forward to, he thinks. He takes the comic book, puts it gently in his backpack, and leaves, bumping into Veronica on the way out.

"You're late for home ec," informs Veronica.

"Alert the media," murmurs Zack.

"Still going to do that article on the comic book industry?"

"I pitched it, didn't it? Yeah."

"Just reminding you as a fellow columnist," defends Veronica.

"Don't know where to start, though," admits Zack.

"Didn't you have that comic book in history class? The Crimson Tide? Wave?"

"_Crimson_ _Kid. _K-I-D. It isn't about female flow, mkay?"

Veronica scrunches up her face in disgust. "Ewww."

"Sorry," says Zack.

"Well, haven't you heard of Google?" says Veronica. "Google it and see what comes up."

II.

Paul Rubenstein collapses on the floor, laughing so hard tears stream from his eyes. He glances at the TV, resumes chuckling. Zack covers his ears briefly. Scrolling down the computer, he enters the web address, types in _Crimson Kid. _A lot of hits surprisingly.

"Carrey's digging up his nose!" cries Paul. "Digging up his nose! Comic gold, man. Come enjoy this before your punishment begins."

"Okay, while I'm thinking of hits...," warns Zack, eyeing Paul. "I'm working."

"You sound like Veronica," moans Paul, sitting up, his bushy hair all messed up because of the floor.

"No, I don't!" snaps Zack.

"And you like Veronica," teases Paul.

"Shut up!"

He didn't like Veronica, not like that. She was too rigid, and bossy, and...kinda pretty. Dang that Paul.

"Shut up!" he says again.

"You better enjoy this," says Paul. "Once Tanglewood calls your folks, you'll never see the outside. I want you at my bar mitzvah, man."

"And be the only black kid at another Jewish event?" sighs Zack. "I don't know, dude. It feels strange sometimes."

"Thought you didn't know what you were," reminds Paul, softly.

"Yeah...yeah, I don't," replies Zack. "What I am, who I look like. A walking, living mystery."

"Your parents were Canadian, right? That's what that newspaper said."

Zack looks at his bulletin board. In between a penant for the Seattle Mariners, and a DJ Mad Bulletz poster, he'd placed another item from the treasure chest. It's a wrinkled copy of _The Grapevine_, a newspaper from some school called Degrassi, edited by his mom. Too bad there were no pictures of her in there. It was almost like she was afraid to show herself to him.

"Yeah, Toronto," answers Zack.

"Cool city. My uncle works there. Hockey's amazing. Love the Maple Leafs! We should check out a game after your punishment ends."

"Why are you so obsessed with my almost punishment?" exclaims Zack.

"I never get punished," explains Paul. "Wanna know what it feels like."

"It feels like this," says Zack, lightly punching him in the shoulder.

"Owww," groans Paul.

He clicks on the first hit, and it brings him to the official site of the company that produces _Crimson Kid. _Reading the history and the story background, he then moves to the staff listings.

"This is so a job I want," remarks Paul. "But I bet you have to be old...experienced..."

"Not the editorial assistants," interrupts Zack. "Like this guy, Toby Isaacs. Looks like he's in his late twenties."

"Looks like a geek," says Paul.

"Says the guy who trekked dog poop all over the dance floor at Veronica's pool party," says Zack.

"Whatever," whispers Paul, going back to watch the movie.

"I'll e-mail him my questions," says Zack.

Paul's eyes light up. "Or...we could go to Toronto!"

"You're on crack," says Zack.

"Let's not waste this holiday weekend!"

"By taking a trip to Toronto?"

"Listen, you need to do that family tree thing, don't you?" says Paul, standing. "If you got an A on that, your parents would ease up on you. Plus you can ask this Isaacs guy about the comic book world. Tanglewood probably won't call them until late Friday, until we're long gone. I'll use my savings to fly us both out there."

"You're deluded..."

"We'll tell your parents it's a pre-bar mitzvah trip, that I invited you along to a game, which is technically true. More important, you said you didn't know what you were. Not curious at all?"

Of course, he's a little curious. Part of him wanted to see his mother. She sent word that his father died before she left for college, and that was the last the Crewes heard from her. Maybe she thought seeing him would bring back memories of his father; he could forgive her for that. His mother was headed for the University of Toronto, last he'd heard. Ugh, really tempting. Too tempting.

"Wouldn't be punished," sing-songs Paul, patting his shoulder.

"It'd get Tanglewood off my back if I wrote a decent article, _and _got an A on something," mulls Zack.

"Two birds with one stone," says Paul, smiling. "Plus me seeing the Leafs, of course. Oh, and you finding out your identity and all that."

"They're playing now?"

"Yeah, I know their schedule more than the lines of both _Ace Ventura_s."

Zack strokes his chin, nods. Paul jumps up excitedly, doing the robot.

"Who's the geek again?" laughs Zack, taking down the copy of the _Grapevine_ and peering at the Degrassi address.

Liberty Van Zandt inserts one business card into the pocket of her purse, waits patiently in her office for the secretary to lead her in. She hates job interviews, but she understands that journalism is a tough field, especially landing a copy editor position at _Toronto Daily._ It would've been far practical to go into law or the government, and her dad had presented her with some positions in the judiciary department. But no, she made it a point to go out on her own, get a master's in print journalism, and do the torturous job search. Ellie Nash, who was in a few of her graduate classes, elected to go back and serve as the_ Grapevine_'s faculty advisor at Degrassi. She couldn't do that. Sure, she loves the school, but it held a lot of memories, some pretty dark memories she'd be confronted with daily if she took up Kwan's offer. Ellie enjoys it, so it all worked out good in the end.

In fact, she thanks Liberty with a free subscription to the paper. Liberty reads through all of it, noticing that the writing has indeed gotten better. When she was in high school, her and Emma were basically the best contributors, with Ellie doing more than able editing and layout. Now, it's a better paper with very interesting articles. She pulls it out of her briefcase, starts to read the back-to-school edition, an edition she often hated as a student reporter back then. Man, getting kids to sign up to write that early in the year was a real bother. She remembers asking around throughout her first two weeks at Degrassi, how heinous that was. Still, asking one person was kind of enjoyable, alright very enjoyable. Too bad he said no.

III.

She straightens her overalls, rights her glasses, breathes in and out. This guy stuck out for all the right reasons. Clean-cut, smiling all the time, loose tie-dyed shirt and baggy jeans. Some song her mother sang to her as a baby enters her mind.

_I found love, didn't even know I needed it_

_But I found love, never even crossed my mind_

_I found love, had a garden never weeded it_

_But I found love, took an apple just in time_

He sat in class, checking his watch, sometimes made eye contact with that blonde girl Emma sitting next to him. She hopes that isn't his girlfriend.

The guy twists the combination lock off his locker, pops the locker open. He waves a hand in front of his nose, coughs. Liberty smooths back her hair, curly and tied back.

_I found love in the fall and it did not hurt at all_

_I found sunlight and flowers, soft summer showers_

_I can feel my heart touch my Adam's apple_

_I can feel the feather in my head_

_There is a lightness, politeness, fingers tingle, tootsies tap_

_'till dawn comes and finds me never in my bed_

Another boy with wide-rim glasses, standing next to him, laughs, pinches his nose.

"Hello!" greets Liberty, approaching them.

"Hey," says the boy with the glasses, letting his nose go.

"Yeah, hey," says the guy she'd noticed.

Liberty smiles at him. "I'm Liberty. We have Media Immersion together."

"Oh," says the guy. "The only class I don't sleep through."

"Well, eight hours is optimal. Helps that it's the first class of the day," replies Liberty, folding her hands together.

"Opti-what?" replies the guy, twisting his lips.

"Never mind him," says the guy with the glasses. "Toby. Nice to meet you."

The other guy sticks his head in the locker, removes a rubber chicken.

"You too, Toby," says Liberty, looking into the locker. "And you are?'

"Oh," says the guy, squeezing the rubber chicken. "I'm...uh, J.T."

"An abbreviation," says Liberty, her heart doing a light flutter. "That makes it easier to type a byline...say, for a newspaper article?"

"I don't write," informs J.T., throwing the chicken back in.

"He's not smart enough to write," jokes Toby, tapping him on his head with a folder.

"Shut up, Toby!" snaps J.T. "Look...what is it, Liberty? You're asking the wrong student."

"I could...could help," stammers Liberty, swallowing a lump in her throat. "What are you into? Current events, voicing your opinions..."

"My opinion is that I don't want to write anymore than I have to for school," interjects J.T.

"Seconding that," says Toby.

"Alright, then," says Liberty, staring at J.T. warmly.

J.T. meets her gaze, looks down, very uncomfortable. "Uh...so yeah."

"Yeah," says Liberty.

"Uh...so bye," says J.T., dragging Toby down the hall.

Liberty blows out a deep breath. Yeah, came off a bit strong, she thinks, but at least he knows my name.

_I found love in the fall and it did not hurt at all_

_I found love in this world and my heart strings just unfurled_

_I found love in the spring and I did not lose a thing._

She waves her notebook in front of her face, hot all over. Wow, if she could feel like this everyday. Boys didn't often have this effect on her, but this one?

"I know that expression," teases Manny, her and Emma walking towards Liberty.

"What?" says Liberty, red-faced.

"It's love," gushes Manny.

"With who?" encourages Emma. "It isn't Sean, is it?"

"Chill, Emma," whispers Manny.

"No...not Sean," replies Liberty. "It's...um, J.T.?"

"Gross," says Manny. "He farts."

"And is messy," adds Emma.

"And he farts," repeats Manny.

"Can't help it," shrugs Liberty. "He just has this thing about him. Nice, happy-go-lucky, a bit charming."

"He's horny too," says Emma. "Did I mention that? Like abnormal horny for a twelve-year old?"

"He isn't looking for love, just for boobs," says Manny. "I love the boy like a brother, but Liberty, you'd be wasting your time."

Liberty frowns. J.T. was too original, too interesting to give up on.

"I have...have to go sign people up," says Liberty, eagerly.

"I'm at the top of the list, right?" says Emma, proudly.

"Yes, Emma," replies Liberty, rolling her eyes.

"I can write horoscopes," says Manny, brightly.

"Um...maybe," says Liberty. "Bye."

Liberty reaches the _Grapevine _office, grins at the sign-up sheet. Even if J.T. wasn't ready to write, or speak with her at length, or date anyone, he could come around, couldn't he?

"Why, Liberty, you're glowing," says Ms. Kwan, removing paper from the fax machine.

"I am?" says Liberty. "Don't know why."

"Miss Van Zandt?" says the secretary, interrupting her meandering thoughts. "Mr. Nichols is ready to see you."

"Oh," says Liberty. "Thank you."

Liberty rises from her chair.

"I'm ready," whispers Liberty to herself. "Ready for the good things."

She closes her eyes, hears the beep from a printer.

IV.

"Good thing I know which diapers are on sale," remarks J.T., taking Liberty's hand as they head up the aisle, beeps from a scanner sounding in their ears.

"This is how I want to spend my junior year," says Liberty, tearing up. "Evaluating diapers for the child I'm carrying."

J.T. stops in the middle, puts his hand on her shoulders.

"We can do this," assures J.T. "You've been checked out. The baby's healthy. I'll be in the room with you."

Liberty glances around, sees a couple of teenage boys laughing at a display of condoms. If only they didn't use the king-sized condom, if only they hadn't gone up to the drive-in that day. Her stomach wouldn't get big, she wouldn't get nauseous, J.T. would still have his job at the station. She kneels to her knees in the aisle, letting the tears fall.

"Liberty," soothes J.T., kneeling next to her. "Come on."

"It's a mood swing," whispers Liberty. "I'll be fine."

J.T. kisses her cheek, finds a plastic beach chair. Liberty smiles up at him, goes to sit on the chair.

"This feels nice," says Liberty, leaning back.

"Mhmm," says J.T. "Just pretend we're in Barbados or Hawaii."

Liberty chuckles. He always tried to cheer her up.

"With you in those sexy red swim trunks?" she asks.

"I thought we promised to mention those since they fell down," whispers J.T., ruffling his hair.

"Yeah, okay. Sorry."

"I'll wear green ones instead," propostions J.T. "Can you feel the wind?"

"What?" says Liberty, laughing.

"You're not working with me," says J.T. "I'm the director, remember? Just follow my lead."

Liberty pats her stomach, smiles at J.T.

"A very nice breeze," she replies.

"Excellent," says J.T. "And of course, I'm not paying attention to all the bikini-clad hotties on the sand."

She hits him lightly on the head. "Don't mention them if you're not looking."

"Ugh, got found out," says J.T., looping his hand with hers. "Other than that, we're having a pretty good time."

"You don't prefer the hot tub?" asks Liberty.

"Hot tubs, the beach, the back of my car...all the same when I'm with my favorite writer."

She gazes into J.T.'s eyes, kisses him softly. Then, she hears the beeps from the scanner, looks at the rows of diapers, sighs.

"Everything's going to change," says Liberty.

"It...it might," admits J.T. "But we'll...we'll work it out. I'm not going, like I said I wouldn't."

"If you left, then I...," starts Liberty, a tear trickling down her cheek.

"That's not an option," interrupts J.T. "I'm not what I...what I was. More mature. Facing this head-on. You can ask me anything, and I'll say yes, as long as it makes you happy."

Liberty sniffles, throws her arms around J.T. All the stares she was getting at Degrassi, the rumors that tore at her inwardly, seem pale at this second, as they embrace. J.T. had stood by her side when he could've bailed. J.T. would be there, wouldn't he? Always.

"I love you, J.T.," whispers Liberty.

J.T. beams. "I love you."

"Let's get Huggies," says J.T. "Since we were just hugging."

"Cheesy wordplay," comments Liberty.

J.T. puts an arm around her. "I try."

"You have money?" asks Liberty.

"Psh, yeah," replies J.T. "I got a checkbook. Responsible, eh?"

"Very," compliments Liberty.

"Figure I can sign my name on something since me giving autographs is a ways off," says J.T., sadly. "But for my autographs, I'm writing J.T. Yorke."

"An abbreviation," says Liberty, resting her head on his shoulder. "Easier to write."

V.

"Thanks for meeting with me, Mr. Nichols," says Liberty, shouldering her briefcase. "On a Saturday especially."

"A pleasure, Ms. Van Zandt," replies Mr. Nichols, walking with her to the door. "You have my card, and you'll be hearing from me shortly."

Liberty exits, smiles on the way to the elevator. She reaches her floor, then finds her car. Maybe she can phone Danny at work, see if he can meet her for dinner. He'd been out a lot lately, doing some top-secret project.

Driving along the different avenues, she thinks back to the memories that came to her that day. Why were they coming so fast, so frequent? It's almost like destiny, some result of how the stars move, Manny might say, since she still read horoscopes everyday after teaching dance classes.

Her car careens sharply to the left, the contents of her briefcase spilling out, including Mr. Nichols' business card. Bending down, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a shadow move across the windshield, then hears a loud thump.

"No...no!" cries Liberty.

If she hit a squirrel, or a dog, she'd never forgive herself, and if it is a human being...oh, boy. Her mom's an attorney and everything, but no, just no. She gets out of the car, looks around, panicked.

"Hello!" she yells. "Hello!"

It takes awhile for her to realize where she is, then when she does, her blood runs cold. The curb...the curb, where she found him. Was this some cruel trick? Liberty shakes herself, has to focus on this present moment. Someone or something is hurt.

Hurt like he was, thinks Liberty. I couldn't save him, and I can't save whatever it is I can't see now. This is some horrible deja vu.

"Please...if anyone's out there!" cries Liberty, choking on her tears.

Please let me leave, begs Liberty. Don't let me relive these moments, these hard, cold truths. Blood on the back of his shirt, his head limply going forward, no breath coming from his mouth. Liberty grips the side of her car, her head throbbing.

A twig snaps, and Liberty gasps. She turns to see a boy, with dark brown hair, a hint of blonde at the top. He has green eyes that feel like they're searching, searching through her.

"Hi," says the boy, nervously.

"Oh my...did I hit you?" says Liberty, rushing over to him. "Are you okay?"

"I was on my skateboard," says the boy. "I was scared you'd yell at me, so I hid behind that tree. Uh...I'm Zack."

"I'm glad you're okay, Zack," sighs Liberty. "I...I..."

Liberty continues to stammer, stares deep into his eyes. They're so familiar, his whole face so familiar.

"Where are your parents?" questions Liberty.

"Seattle," answers Zack. "I have family here, though...I think."

Liberty places a hand on her heart, feels it beating rapidly.

"Am I scaring you?" asks Zack, playing with his backwards cap.

"Yes," answers Liberty, softly.

"I don't mean you any harm, ma'am," says Zack. "I'll...I'll go. My friend's waiting for me."

Zack zooms off on his skateboard, throwing her back a frantic look. Liberty steps forward, her mouth moving, but no words ready.


	2. The Boy's Gone Home

**II. The Boy's Gone Home**

**Someday is the property of Sugar Ray.**

**The Boy's Gone Home is the property of Jason Mraz.**

"You should sue her," instructs Paul, straightening his seatbelt.

Zack fools with the zipper on his backpack, stares out the backseat window of Gary Rubenstein's, Paul's uncle, Civic. Suing the woman whose car he crashed into was the last thing he'd been thinking of during those strange five minutes. He thought the opposite actually, that she'd be angry with him for being so careless with his board, not looking in the right direction. Instead, she appeared shaken, like he had a third head. Good thing he had to meet Paul so they could go over to Buzz Comics.

"She was the one that was out of it," explains Zack. "Staring at me all weird."

"Well, you're not that ugly, so that's not the problem," jokes Paul.

"Very funny," says Zack. "But have you ever felt like you met someone before...like, even if you don't know their name?"

"A few times," answers Paul. "Then the feeling goes away."

Well, this feeling isn't going away. In fact, it's pretty strong, so strong the image of her face is registered in his mind. Still, he would never see her again, so what's the point? He should focus anyway, on what he came to do. He was a bit surprised that his parents agreed to the trip, but Paul kept hammering in the fact that he was only getting one bar mitzvah and that he'd like to celebrate beforehand with one of his dearest friends. He actually used the word dearest. Ugh, thought Zack, but it worked. It's no wonder Paul never gets punished; he can influence any adult. That power actually also got Paul's father to pay for the plane tickets, and Chris Crewe paid for Zack's Leafs ticket. Zack felt guilty about not telling his dad the real reason why he was going to Toronto, but doesn't he have the right to find out more about himself? It isn't easy to walk around with so many questions, is it?

"What you fellas talking about?" asks Gary Rubenstein, adjusting his rear view mirror.

"Nothing," reply Zack and Paul at the same time.

"Oh, evasive, huh?" chuckles Gary. "That can only mean you're talking about girls."

"Uhhh...," starts Paul.

"I got so much tail in college," says Gary. "I was the BMOC."

"Not again," mumbles Paul.

"Quarterback for the football team, homecoming king," continues Gary, stroking his black beard with a hint of grey at the bottom.

Paul warned Zack that his uncle was stuck in the past, because he had such an unsatisfying job selling car parts, no wife, no kids. It resulted in him reliving the glory days over and over again.

"Asked to join Gamma Phi Gamma," whispers Paul to Zack, smiling.

"Asked to join Gamma Phi Gamma," says Gary, loudly, not hearing the boys.

Gary continues on, with Paul and Zack ignoring him. Zack unzips his backpack, peers in.

"All those from your treasure chest?" whispers Paul.

Zack nods. "The comic book, the issue of the Grapevine, a pack of skateboard decals, and a Degrassi sweatshirt."

"And you got it on your birthday? That's a strange present."

Zack thinks back to his birthday, with Gary now talking about how he'd been offered to model for his college's MVP trophy. Lindsay Crewe always made a big deal of his birthday; she said you only get so many before you're off to college. She was always so sensitive, maybe because she was a nurse who worked with terminally ill kids, guessed Zack. The fact that she couldn't have kids, which she told Zack about when he was ten, lead to his adoption and his father's very strict rules. All in all, Zack tried to obey them as much as possible, emphasis on the word try. At school, a much different story. He got bored easily, as did a lot of his fellow students. He'd rather his fellow students laugh, then sleep, so yeah, he pulled many a prank. But the day they told him about the treasure chest, he thought that was a prank.

"You gotta be kidding me," said Zack. "A treasure chest? What, like from a pirate ship? Not Johnny Depp, last time I checked."

Chris and Lindsay sat down next to him on his bed, Lindsay stroking his hair.

"We were waiting for the right time to give it to you," replied Lindsay. "We think you're mature enough to take care of what's inside, handle what's inside."

Chris goes outside for a moment, comes back with a grey, locked box the size of two lunchboxes. Zack's pulse races, and he runs a hand through his hair.

"What _is_ inside?" asked Zack.

"We're not sure," informed Chris. "It's yours, so we haven't opened it. It's your decision what to do with it."

"It's a gift from your birth parents," explained Lindsay.

"My birth parents," said Zack to himself.

At that point, he hadn't been thinking too much about them. He figured they didn't want him so why think too much about them? Plus it hurt a bit to think his father was dead. Alright, it hurt a lot. Zack's eyes start to water.

"Will you guys stay with me while I open it?" he asked.

Lindsay and Chris smiled at each other, nodded. Chris presented him with a key.Taking a deep breath, Zack took the key, unlocked the chest. A grin immediately formed on his lips when he opened it. A comic book. How'd they know he would like to read them? He assumed his dad would know. Skateboard decals. Very, very cool, and maybe he'd use them someday. A newspaper? Hmmm, he'd just signed up to work on the newspaper, mainly because Veronica kept harrassing him about it. And the sweatshirt? That was pretty nice. He put on the sweatshirt, his parents staring at him with concerned faces.

"Feels warm," he said, sniffling.

Lindsay cried a bit, Chris hugging Zack to his chest.

II.

Paul elbows Zack, the image of himself opening the chest fading.

"We're here, men," says Gary, grinning.

"What time did that Isaacs guy want to meet with you?" questions Paul, as he and Zack get out of the car.

"Two thirty," says Zack.

"Dude!" cries Paul. "That's in seven minutes."

"Man!" exclaims Zack. "Thanks, Mr. Rubenstein."

"I'll be back in an hour," says Gary.

Zack and Paul run to the building that houses Buzz Comics, a tall, brick building with a large grey sign announcing the address in front of it. They go inside, see a receptionist popping gum in her mouth, talking loudly on the phone.

"Just because we made some hot videos that got online somehow doesn't mean I'm not good enough for her son, you know?" complains the woman. "I mean, she used to be a stripper so..."

She looks at the boys, annoyed.

"We don't give out free samples, munchkins," says the receptionist.

"I have an appointment with Toby Isaacs," assures Zack. "Zack Crewe, two-thirty."

The girl pops her gum again, checks something on the computer, dials a number after putting her friend on hold. She hits speaker phone when Toby picks up.

"Toby, some kid is here to see you," says the woman.

"Amy, it would help if I knew the name," says Toby over the speakerphone.

"Who am I, your secretary?" snaps Amy. "You aren't my boss."

Zack and Paul glance at each other, shrugging.

"His name's Jack or Zack or something," supplies Amy. "Happy?"

"Very," says Toby, dryly. "He's clear. Send him up."

Amy clicks him off, hands Zack a visitor's badge, points him to the elevator. Paul stares at Amy, hopefully.

"Can I go up?" asks Paul.

"No," answers Amy. "This isn't ESPN Zone, okay? You can't just go walking around without clearance. I have to tell people when I'm going to the vending machines when I freakin' want a stick of gum, so why should I let a little brat wander around?"

"I'll...get you some more gum from the vending machine," offers Paul.

"Bazooka Joe?" says Amy.

"Whatever you want, miss," replies Paul.

"Machine's next to Toby's office," says Amy, handing him a dollar. "Fourth floor."

Amy hands Paul a badge, then starts to chat with her friend again.

"That was interesting," says Paul, hitting the up button on the elevator.

"Hope Mr. Isaacs isn't that mean," says Zack, as they board the elevator. "But he sounded nice when he agreed to do this."

The elevator goes up, chiming when it hits the fourth floor. Zack and Paul enter, both smiling at the same time. It definitely looks like a fun place to work, graphic art plastering the walls from various comic book series; computer screens showing different stages of production; action figures on cubicle desks. There were a lot of cubicles, but Toby told Zack to look for the one with a lot of Black Adolescent, the archnemesis of the Crimson Kid, art.

"I want to die here," gushes Zack, shouldering his backpack.

"I want to get married here," says Paul.

"To a girl that loves Carrey and comic books as much as you?" says Zack. "Good luck with that."

"I'm going to get gum," says Paul.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," cautions Zack. "Which isn't much."

Paul laughs, nods, heads in another direction. Zack takes out a notepad with his list of questions, then searches around the offices. He finally spies a cubicle with several images of the Black Adolescent on the wall. Looking in, he sees a man with glasses, dressed in a loose-fitting shirt and jeans, really Zack's ideal work outfit. This is going to be cool, he thinks.

"Mr. Isaacs?" asks Zack.

"Hi," greets Toby. "You must be Zack. Hope you didn't get lost."

Toby rises from his chair, shakes hands with Zack. Under the lenses of Toby's glasses, Zack thinks he sees a trace of surprise, but it passes.

"No, sir," replies Zack.

"You can call me Toby. I'm not that old."

"Alright. Thanks for meeting with me."

"No problem."

Zack glances around at prints of the Crimson Kid zapping different villains with his laser gun, coasting on his skateboard made of steel, fire coming out of it from underneath. No wonder his dad liked it.

"Can I just say that you have the coolest job ever?" cries Zack. "I mean, you get to work on comics."

"It's a great industry," agrees Toby. "Hopefully, I can give you some decent insight into it."

"I figured I'd have better luck with an editorial assistant, and I want a young opinion."

"Sounds wise to me. We're also easier to track down."

Zack laughs. "Yeah. So why the Crimson Kid?"

III.

Toby leans back in his office chair, pretending to soak in every word as Zack asks him question after question. In the back of his mind, he thought this kid looked like someone he's met before, especially the eyes when he got excited. Sure, he himself got excited about working on upcoming issues, especially if it meant a storyline with the Black Adolescent, a character he co-created with his wife for the storyboard artists, but it couldn't match this twelve-year old's excitement.

Twelve years old. He barely remembers being that age, though it certainly wasn't several hundred years ago. His clearest memories were at Degrassi, with J.T., Emma, Manny, and Liberty. Well, that and the summer before he came to Degrassi. Jeff Isaacs made him go to this pretty lame summer camp, North Week Summer Camp, because he thought his son was too much of a loner. We just moved to Toronto, Toby tried to point out. Of course, I don't know anyone. He wasn't like Ashley, who went shopping with Terri every weekend. Kate was the one who convinced them to move out of their house. Jeff didn't want to hear it, telling him it would be good to get out, meet new people. But meeting his new best friend there was the last thing Toby expected.

Unfastening his suitcase, Toby Isaacs lugs it inside the cabin, cursing himself for bringing all this junk. Most of the beds were already taken, except for a bottom bunk in the small corner. He sees one kid laying on the top bunk, chuckling as he reads a comic book. It's the only one left, he thinks, going over there. He starts to undo the sheets, spying something yellow and squishy in the center. Vomit.

"Gross!" cries Toby, inching back.

The boy above him laughs loudly, leaps off his bed onto the floor. He picks up the squishy thing, squeezes it.

"Fake vomit," sighs the boy. "Works everytime. Why did you think this bunk was free?"

"You...," starts Toby.

"Easy, tiger," says the boy. "It was either that or fake feces."

"Fake feces, huh?" says Toby. "Guess it could've been worse. Is there anything else I should be looking for?"

"No," says the boy. "That's it."

Toby shrugs, opens the drawer nearest his bed. A phony-looking snake is cradled in the corner.

"Nice try," says Toby, taking out the snake. "Not that dumb."

"Dude...that's real!" exclaims the boy. "I...I didn't put anything in there."

Toby drops the snake, which makes a hissing sound, and shrinks back. The boy laughs again.

"Relax," says the boy. "It's not real."

"Looks real," says Toby, picking it up.

"Yeah, I go for quality," says the boy, taking it from him. "See. It even hisses."

Toby grins. "Cool."

"Put this in my friend Manny's bookbag and she went ballistic," informs the boy.

"Girls are so much easier to scare," says Toby.

"You're telling me," agrees the boy. "I'm J.T. Thanks for not beating me up over the vomit. That's happened...before."

J.T. looks down, bites his lip.

"Toby," says Toby. "It's cool."

"This your first year?"

"Yeah, my dad made me come. Thinks I should get out more."

"That's some stupid excuse to get you out of the house," says J.T. "They like sending you away so they can hog the TV, walk around in their boxers, and watch Conan O' Brian, who's not as funny as they think, while they eat stuff they say is bad for you but don't mind eating themselves."

"And I'm betting that 'I'll miss you, Tobes' was a lie too."

"Meanwhile, we have to make lanyards and do campfire activities where we come up with witty game sayings, like 'My name is J.T., I'm from Japan, and I like jalapeno peppers.' Like the letter J is so important. Still, I'd rather run out in the woods than clean my room."

"I hear ya," says Toby. "I just hope I can survive these two weeks."

"It helps if you know the secret handshake, shared by the scrawnier and nicer guys," says J.T. "I'll show you."

J.T. positions Toby's hands above his head, claps them, then does a series of movements. This is a pretty cool handshake, thinks Toby, cool for camp anyways. Then, he teaches Toby the vocalizations, which are,unfortunately, not too cool. But hey, he's already making a friend.

"_Miki Hiki Wopem, Miki Hiki Yep. Miki Hiki Wigwamp. North Week Summer Camp_!" yells J.T. and Toby at the same time, doing the handshake.

"Don't you feel all warm and fuzzy all over?" says J.T., sarcastically.

"Totally," laughs Toby.

"You seem like an alright dude, so I'm willing to share a little somethin' somethin' with ya," says J.T.

"Somethin' somethin'?" says Toby, giving him a puzzled look.

"You don't watch MTV? The hip-hop countdown?"

"I watched MTV once. I'm more of a computer guy."

"Great. I'm going to have to spend the summer de-dorkifying you," jokes J.T., punching him in the shoulder. "But that's okay. I'm a big comic book dork."

"Really?" says Toby.

J.T. opens up a small bag filled with more fake vomit, a Frisbee, a clown wig, and a laminated comic book.

"_The Crimson Kid_," says J.T., holding the book up proudly. "Mint condish. Number one. The only keepsake I have from Dad."

"Hmmm," says Toby, evaluating it. "Never read it."

"Yeah, well, you're missing out," insists J.T. "It's a classic. This dude has a rack of special powers, and rides his flame skateboard everywhere. There's a mushy romance with this reporter chick, but you can skip all that. Going to let you read it, but be careful."

"Dude, I don't know. If it's mint condish...," begins Toby.

"We've bonded through the secret shake, Tobes," says J.T. "And I can't hang with you if you don't know the story."

Toby takes the comic book. "Thanks, man."

"Yeah, whatever," says J.T., leading him to the mess hall. "Did you know there's a girls' camp not too far from her? The counsellors are supposed to be hot. Have a thing for older women, you know what I'm saying?"

"Nice," says Toby, grinning.

That meeting with J.T. somewhat reminds him of today, maybe the way Zack is at the edge of his seat as he goes on about how the _Crimson Kid _has become so popular over the last twelve years. Twelve years ago, the _Crimson Kid _was just some book to him, nothing special like it was, but for J.T. at sixteen, the priorities were shifting too. On the day they made a treasure chest, a chest Liberty told him about after graduation, he and J.T. went for a drive to nowhere particular, the radio blasting. J.T. was telling him all about the event.

_Someday, when my life has passed me by_

_I'll lay around and wonder why you were always there for me_

_One way, In the eyes of a passerby_

_I'll look around for another try, and all fade away _

"And Danny sacrificed his beloved decals for the kid," says J.T., turning up the air conditioning.

"Wish I could've put something in," admits Toby.

"You've done so much for me and Liberty already, Tobes," says J.T. "Watching her, being there for us. Can't thank you enough."

Toby stares through the windshield at the open road. He's not sure where J.T.'s driving, but wasn't that basically like the whole year? Just heading in a direction without any knowledge? In September, the last thing he thought would happen was J.T. fathering a child. And if he was confused about how to feel about it all, he's sure that J.T. and Liberty were. Giving up their son only contributed to more emotions, emotions he can tell they're still sorting out.

"Happy to help," says Toby.

"If we kept him, you would've been the godfather," says J.T., glancing over at Toby. "At sixteen."

"Weird," whispers Toby.

"Yeah," says J.T., blowing out a deep breath. "But that's all over."

There's a tinge of disappointment in his voice, though he can tell his best friend is doing his best to cover it up. That's J.T., thinks Toby. Put on a smile, suffer inside. Although, he'd been a bit more open since his counselling sessions after the near overdose.

"And you don't like it?" supplies Toby.

"I just...I just wanted to meet him once, you know?" answers J.T. "Hear him call me Dad. I didn't get to hold him. I practiced with that stupid doll Danny forced on me, you know so he wouldn't tell Liberty's folks."

"Sorry, man," says Toby. "Maybe someday you'll get a chance."

_Some say, better things will come our way_

_no matter what they try to say, you were always there for me_

_Some way, when the sun begins to shine_

_I hear a song from another time and I'll fade away..._

"Well, nothing's set in stone, right?" replies J.T., earnestly. "I got to see him at least."

"True," says Toby, warmly.

"Plus if I dropped him on his head, I'd damage the kid," says J.T. "I'd never hear the end of it from Liberty."

They laugh.

"Never," agrees Toby.

J.T. pulls his car up to the side of the road. "Ah, here we are."

Toby looks anxiously around. They're at a cliff, not too steep, but a decent amount of space seperating the edge of the cliff from the ground, covered in high trees. J.T. gets out, and Toby reaches to turn off the radio.

"Leave it on," instructs J.T. "If I can't hear myself think, that'd be good."

"Sure," says Toby, getting out with him.

J.T. goes to the edge, stares up into the blue sky. Toby folds his arms, glances up too. There used to be a time when J.T. cracked jokes left and right, and now the jokes are few and far between.

_Just close your eyes and I'll take you there_

_This place is war without a care_

_We'll take a swim in the deep blue sea_

_I go to leave as you reach for me_

He knows that J.T. will eventually get back to normal, that him downing those pills was a moment of weakness, but honestly, it scared him, and it certainly scared Liberty. If he didn't get back to normal...well, he didn't want to think about that.

J.T. closes his eyes. The song changes over to a melancholy ballad, a sad guitar strumming.

_The boy's gone. The boy's gone home._

_What will happen to a face in the crowd_

_when it finally gets too crowded._

_And will happen to the origins of sound_

_after all the sounds have sounded _

"Why are we here, dude?" questions Toby.

"Ever since Liberty got pregnant, I come here to relax my mind," admits J.T. "I can't...you know, be worried around her."

"I...I understand," stammers Toby.

"Really want my son to have a decent life," says J.T. "My dad ditched me. Hope he doesn't feel that way."

"He won't," assures Toby.

J.T. massages his forehead. "All those plans gone up in smoke. The apartment we were going to get, the names we were thinking about."

Toby says nothing, stares at the dusty ground.

"So what are your plans, Toby?" asks J.T., suddenly.

"Um...not sure," replies Toby. "I don't think there'll be any little Tobys running around anytime soon."

"Good," says J.T. "No, there's time for that. You'll get married, get a nice fancy computer job."

"Me married? Nah?" shrugs off Toby.

"Toby, come on. I can see you stomping on that glass, dancing at your wedding."

"With who?"

"With whoever you want, man," says J.T.

They grin at one another.

_Well I hope I never have to see that day_

_But by God I know it's headed our way_

_So I better be happy now that the boy's_

_going home. The boy's gone home._

"Maybe Kendra will come to her senses and track you down," says J.T.

"Eh, don't know about that," says Toby.

"And you have to have a cool job, because I'm pretty sure I'm going to be stuck at the convenience store for the rest of my life," says J.T. "No more TV gigs."

"You'll get back on T.V.," comforts Toby.

"If I don't, I had a good run," says J.T.

_And what becomes of a day for those who_

_rage against it_

_And who will sum up the phrase for all left standing around in it_

_Well I suppose we'll all make our judgement call_

_W'll walk it alone, stand up tall, then march to the fall_

_So we better be happy now that we'll all go home_

"Suddenly feel like I'm sixty," says J.T. "Pondering our future."

"Me too," says Toby. "But like you said, as long as it's a good run, you can die happy, I guess."

_Be so happy with the way you are_

_Be so happy that you made it this far_

_Go on be happy now. Please be happy now_

_Because this is something else_

_this is something else_

"Where do you go afterwards, you think?" asks J.T., staring at Toby.

"Heaven, if you're good, probably," answers Toby.

_I tried to live my life and live it so well_

_But when it's all over is it heaven or is it hell_

_I better be happy now that no one can tell_

_nobody knows_

_I'm gonna be happy with the way that I am_

_I'm gonna be happy with all that I stand for_

_I'm gonna be happy now because the boy's going home._

_The boy's gone home._

J.T. frowns, his eyes glazing over. "You ever wonder what it's like?"

"In synagogue, yeah," confesses Toby. "Whatever is there has to make you incredibly happy, I'm sure. Computers and hot girls for me."

J.T. laughs. "Yeah."

"And for you? Um..._Crimson Kid _comics and a stage to perform. No more itchy mascot uniform."

"Sweet," compliments J.T. "But that's a long ways off, you know? Eh, let's go. Wrestling's on."

"Yeah, you've got my brain hurting thinking about all this deep stuff," says Toby, chuckling.

They climb into the car, J.T. starting it. Toby snaps his seatbelt into place, glancing at J.T. He'd had so many worries that year, to the point where he'd harrassed Toby for money, but their friendship survived. Maybe fake vomit creates lasting bonds, thinks Toby, shaking his head and smiling.

"I guess what's funny is that...nah," says J.T.

"What?" encourages Toby.

"What's funny is I might get what I want in the end. That heaven is going to be the most perfect home I could hope for. More deep stuff, right?"

J.T. switches the car out of park, driving down the road.

IV.

Zack finishes writing the final words out of Toby's mouth. Toby feels bad that his mind kept wandering to moments he hadn't thought about in years, though he gave Zack a lot of nice information. J.T. would've liked to hear it too, he bet. He did get the cool job, helping to keep J.T.'s most prized possession in stores nationwide, all over the world in certain countries. The bonus was yes, being around a computer all day, like he enjoyed.

"Thanks a lot, Toby," says Zack. "This article is going to rule over all the articles in the paper."

"Hope I didn't sound too geeky," says Toby.

"Not to me," says Zack, and he's thankful because it sounds genuine.

Zack glances over at a picture of the Black Adolescent hurling a sword in the air as the Crimson Kid zips to the right of an oncoming train.

"The Black Adolescent is tight," says Zack. "You created that?"

"Me and my wife," says Toby, nodding towards a photograph in a frame.

Zack stares at Kendra, beaming as she stands in front of Degrassi Community School with two of her gymnastics students.

"A girl who likes comic books," says Zack, nodding approvingly. "You lucked out."

"I did," agrees Toby.

"Wait...she teaches at Degrassi?'

Zack picks up the frame, blinks maddeningly at it. Toby's surprised to see Zack's entire face fall, especially since he'd been enthused since he got there.

"Yeah, has for two years now," answers Toby. "We went there, met in school."

"Did you...did you know a girl named Liberty?" asks Zack.

Toby's heart speeds up as he leans forward. "Van Zandt?"

"Yeah...yeah, that's her," stutters Zack.

"We were friends," says Toby. "Close friends. She was moving, so I can't give you her number. How do you know her?"

Wordlessly, Zack starts to shake, his hands shaking more as he pulls out the copy of the _Grapevine._

"She's sort of...my mom," replies Zack.

Toby lets out a deep breath, and he starts to see it, the traces of J.T. he thought he saw before now becoming brighter.

Zack takes out the mint condition of the comic book too, and yes, Toby would know that anywhere.

"That's J.T.'s," breathes Toby, staring hard at it.

"I...I didn't know his name," stammers Zack, sinking down in the chair opposite Toby's. "I don't know a lot of things."

Toby takes off his glasses, his eyes growing cloudy, but clearing again. If J.T. was looking down, what would he do, say, think? His son is here, actually here. But didn't he say that he didn't want his son to feel ditched, alone?

"Do you...do you want to know?" asks Toby.

Zack nods timidly. "Anyone that knew him and her well, maybe?"

Toby takes the newspaper, flips through. Just as he thought, there's a group picture of people preparing for the variety show that year, grade eleven. Unfortunately, J.T. wasn't in the picture, but his name was mentioned throughout.

"This is Manny Santos," says Toby, pointing to one picture. "She was good friends with your dad, and your mom later on. Maybe she has Liberty's number. She teaches dance at the community center."

Zack writes down her name hurriedly, Toby seeing that his eyes are tearing up. Still, he thinks he should keep going. Flipping to another picture, he sees Paige, and Zack records her name. He also gives Zack information for Danny, Emma and Mia.

"Is that enough?" asks Toby.

"Yeah...more than enough, and thanks," says Zack. "Can I have a tissue or something?"

Toby hands him a tissue, gives him a pat on the shoulder.

"This is some really funny, messed up fate," whispers Zack, wiping his eyes.

Toby laughs. "Sounds like J.T.'s type of fate."

"I wish...wish I could meet him," says Zack.

"He said the same thing about you," says Toby.

Zack finally smiles again. "Did he know a lot of cool stuff like you?"

"I think so," replies Toby. "There was this handshake we did."

"Can I see it?" asks Zack.

"Raise up your arms," instructs Toby.

Zack gently raises his arms, Toby doing the movements, all of them coming to him, like he had the same partner, the same boy who actually didn't leave, wasn't watching down on them from his new home.


	3. It's So Hard To Say Goodbye

**III. It's So Hard To Say Good-bye (To Yesterday**)

_How do I, say goodbye, to what we had? _

_The good times that made us laugh, always come back, ohhh_

_I thought we'd get, to see forever, _

_But forever's gone away, _

_It's so hard, to say goodbye, to yesterday._

_I don't know, where the road, is going to lead, _

_All I know, is where we've been, and what we been through, oooh,_

_If we get to see tomorrow, _

_I hope it's worth all the wait, _

_It's so hard, to say goodbye, to yesterday. _

_And I'll take, with me the memories, _

_To be my sunshine after the rain, _

_It's so hard, to say goodbye, to yesterday. _

**Frogs and Princes is the property of Natasha Bedingfield.**

**It's So Hard To Say Good-bye To Yesterday is the property of Boyz II Men.**

Paul pays for two foam fingers, then hands one Coke to Zack. Cheers coming from the arena sound in Zack's ears, eager fans anticipating the Leafs taking down the Regals, who Paul says has no chance. Zack wasn't listening to Paul's predictions. How could he? He had a list of names on his notepad that would slowly reveal his parents to him. Talking to Toby brought up a well of emotions. In the car ride to the game tonight, his cheeks were still red from shock and sad tears, and his heart beat rapidly from nerves and then, some joy he didn't know how to harness. He dare not tell Paul, especially when he doesn't have the words yet.

"I'm giving you the finger, man," laughs Paul, handing him a foam finger.

Pull it together, man, thinks Zack, letting out a forced chuckle. This was the one thing Paul wanted to do while they were here, so he really should be friendly.

"Engarde!" says Paul.

Zack slips the foam over his hands, jousting with Paul in the lobby. Paul ducks and Zack groans, goes in for him again.

"You missed!" exclaims Paul, jumping as Zack goes for a low blow.

His jump makes him fall into a passing man, carrying a hot dog and soda.

"Kid, watch it!" chastises the man. "I just had this dry cleaned."

Zack looks at the man's shirt, sees an emblem with Toronto Police Service in the middle of it.

"Sorry, officer," says Paul, glancing nervously at Zack.

"It's cool, but...dude, be careful," replies the man, then heading into the arena.

"Man," whispers Paul. "First, your near car crash and me being scolded by the police. Tough to be a kid up here in Toronto."

Zack shrugs. "Let's find our seats."

They walk into the arena, met with loud screams and applause as the players take center ice. One blonde player takes his helmet off momentarily, waves to the stands.

"Yeah, Dylan!" yells one guy in a middle row of seats.

"Dylan Michalchuck...cool!" cries Paul. "I have his card. Plays center."

"Well, we're right behind that guy who seems to be in love with him," says Zack, nodding towards the seats.

He and Paul climb up to their row, flop down in their seats. Zack notices that they're fairly close to the Dylan fan and the guy in the police shirt.

"So while you were talking to that Toby guy, I scored something sweet," informs Paul. "Went to give that girl Amy her gum, and her boyfriend was there, and he gave me this."

Paul presents Zack with a white, book-sized plastic bag, looks around excitedly. Zack takes off his foam finger, opens the bag.

"Don't take it out!" whispers Paul, hurriedly.

"This is...this is porn!" whispers Zack, blushing. "Why'd he give you this?"

"Saw him reading it and told him I was sexually confused," answers Paul. "That seemed to do the trick."

Zack peers at a couple more pages, bites his lip. The girl takes off her shirt, then her bra, then...wow.

"Good morning glory," breathes Zack, repeating a saying his mother always said.

"I'm telling Veronica," says Paul.

Zack shuts the magazine, puts it back in, and thrusts the bag into Paul's chest. He hears someone cough in front of him. Uh-oh, the guy Paul fell into.

"Mind if I take a look, guys?" asks the guy, holding out his hand.

"Uh...yeah," replies Paul. "There's nothing...nothing to see, sir."

"I bet you can see everything," laughs the Dylan fan. "Go easy on them, Spin."

Spinner pulls out the magazine, shakes his head, smiles. Paul stuffs his hands in his pockets. Oh great, thinks Zack. They were in trouble their first full day here. He's so not in the mood for this, for anyone to ruffle his feathers.

"Pretty tame, but restricted nonetheless," assesses Spinner. "Confiscating it."

"What, for your own personal collection?" blurts out Zack, then covering his mouth.

"Oooh, now you're busted, Spin," says the Dylan fan, clapping after Zack's statement.

"Quiet, Marco!" says Spinner. "Kid, don't take that tone with me. I'm an adult and you're...what, ten?"

"Try twelve," replies Zack, folding his arms. "You're off-duty, man, and excuse us for having hormones."

"Zack!" whispers Paul, urgently.

The whole row in front of them has turned their attention from the game, Dylan scoring the first goal, to the argument between Spinner and the boys.

"You guys can't have this stuff...," starts Spinner.

"Afraid we'll get boners?" says Zack. "Sad that you haven't had one since like last decade?"

Marco's mouth drops.

"That's it!" shouts Spinner, causing the whole row to get up as he takes Zack's jacket collar.

"Hey!" yells Zack, trying to get out of Spinner's grasp.

Spinner drags Zack all the way to the lobby, where he finally lets him go. Zack shakes himself, his forehead throbbing.

"Male autonomy jokes...not cool, man," sighs Spinner.

"You mean anatomy?" says Zack.

"Yeah, whatever," brushes off Spinner. "What's your damage, dude?"

"Nothing," says Zack, trying to walk past him.

Spinner blocks him, Zack groaning. What's with this guy? Does he have to bother me to prove himself?

"You're not one for authority, are you?" asks Spinner.

"I just want to watch the game," says Zack. "I've had a lot happen today, okay?"

"I'll let you go in," concedes Spinner. "If you tell me where you got this oh so fine artwork. If someone's selling this to minors, I deserve to know."

Zack harrumphs, then softly says, "Might've got it from Buzz Comics."

"Ah, Isaacs' haven," says Spinner.

"You know Toby Isaacs?" cries Zack. "No way someone like you would know someone that cool."

Spinner laughs loudly. "If we were still in school, that statement would be reversed. Believe me."

"What?"

"Toby's married to my sister, kid. And knowing her, Toby would have nothing like this floating around. She'd kick him in the...uh, well he wouldn't be able to walk. So I'm thinking you probably stole this."

"I didn't do jack," snaps Zack. "Just like an adult to judge a kid."

Spinner kneels down next to Zack, and this is the first time Zack can truly see that he is pretty tall, tall enough to take him. Let's get this over with, moans Zack inwardly. Why did Paul take that magazine? He should be here, not him.

"However you got it, I doubt your parents want you to have it," says Spinner. "We all get curious, but there are other ways. Like...ask your dad."

"Dad?" says Zack, looking away from him. "Yeah, adopted one's in Seattle, the other's six feet under."

"Oh," says Spinner, his voice dropping.

Zack notes the sympathetic look on Spinner's face, swallows a lump in his throat. This guy isn't so bad, rationalizes Zack. It could be worse.

"Kendra's adopted," says Spinner. "But it doesn't feel like it."

"Yeah, same here," says Zack. "My birth dad knew Toby."

A blank look crosses Spinner's face. Maybe he has gas, thinks Zack, staring at him with a puzzled look on his face.

"Dude!" cries Spinner. "I...I think I'm figuring something out."

"Uhhh...can I go?" says Zack. "You're acting...strange."

"Comes with the territory," says a voice behind them.

A very pretty blonde woman in a loose-fitting, pink skirt and white blouse, with pink pumps on her feet walks up to Spinner, kisses his cheek.

"After awhile, it's somewhat endearing," says the woman. "Surprise! Here to show sisterly support."

"Paige...Paige...this is...this has to be J.T.'s kid!" exclaims Spinner. "The backwards cap, adopted, the smart aleck attitude..."

"Hey!" interjects Zack.

"No way, honeybee," says Paige. "What would J.T.'s kid be doing here? It'd be way too Twilight Zone."

"What, like the ride?" questions Spinner.

Paige and Zack sigh at the same time.

"I'll handle this," says Paige, nudging Spinner to the side.

She puts her hands on her knees, bends down in front of Zack, who's not nearly as small as she's making it seem.

"Hon, your dad's name wouldn't be J.T. Yorke by any chance, now would it?" asks Paige, smiling.

"It...it is," replies Zack, chills running up his neck.

Paige rises up, the smile disappearing. It's replaced by wide eyes and parted lips. Spinner grins, triumphantly.

"Yeah...yeah, I knew it!" shouts Spinner. "I'm right! And what!"

"Shush, Spin," says Paige, her voice returning. "My...I don't believe...oh, the eyes. Yeah, he's got the eyes. He's got sweet potato's eyes."

Zack touches his face, awkwardly. Paige waves her hand in front of her face, her eyes growing wet.

"Babe, you alright?" asks Spinner, pulling a napkin out of his pocket.

"Yeah!" insists Paige. "And eww, I don't want your lint-covered napkin. Gross."

"How many freakin' mood swings are you going to have in one day?" moans Spinner. "It's a clean napkin."

"Way to be sympathetic," snaps Paige. "I'm only carrying your kid. You know what? Get me a new napkin. And nachoes with relish and cheese on it."

Spinner gags, heads for the concession stand.

"I'm sorry," says Spinner, rubbing her shoulders. "I'll get you whatever you want."

"I want a burger too."

"Paige, I...I don't have the change."

"You better get the change. Use your magic sergeant powers or whatever."

"I'll...I'll get the burger."

Something tells Zack that Spinner couldn't grab Paige by the ear and get away with it. It was probably the other way around. Dude is whipped.

Paige stares down awkwardly at Zack. Paige...Paige. That name. It's on the list, recalls Zack.

"You were on Spirit Squad," says Zack. "At Degrassi."

"Captain," says Paige. "Your dad...the mascot. Yeah...I'm really sorry for staring. Only...J.T. was very special to me."

"Yeah?"

Paige nods towards a bench, indicating that she'd like to sit. Who was he not to oblige a pregnant lady? They sit down, Paige folding her hands together. She looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

"Why was my dad special to you?" asks Zack.

Stroking her hair, she tries to buy herself some time. What should she say? There's so much to say, honestly. J.T. helped her through one of the worst experiences of her life, along with Spinner. He certainly didn't have to, what with her picking on him. Though she did pick on almost everyone back then. But J.T. was so earnest, attacking Dean in the middle of the basketball game, acting twice his size. He had no fear, when she had all the fears in the world. Seeing him face Dean like that gave her the courage to tell Dean that she was going after him next, make him pay. That...that didn't happen.

II.

Paige Michalchuk walks down the concrete steps of the courthouse, frowning. She's so used to being strong, having a sly smile on her face as she tossed out zingers that stung, but the only thing stinging now are the tears threatening to pour out of her blue-green eyes. Dean got off. He got off, smiled at her, knew he won. All she could do was sit there and watch it all go down.

She glances at her mother and Spinner, both sad as she is, talking, about her probably. She didn't want to know. If I could be anywhere else, she thinks, reaching the sidewalk. A finger taps her on the shoulder, and she turns her head.

"Something tells me it didn't go well," says J.T., clad in a light blue jacket and jeans.

"Not guilty," informs Paige. "What's that statue? Lady Justice is blind."

"But she doesn't dress as well as you," comforts J.T. "Not that I know a thing about fashion. Wait, I know you shouldn't wear too much blue eyeshadow."

Paige reluctantly smirks. "From the book of Paige."

"Yeah, the effects of us being buddy buddy for the last year," says J.T. "It stuck in my head, no matter how much I tried to get it out."

"Proceed," instructs Paige, going down the sidewalk.

J.T. follows her. "Too much jewelry makes you look like desperate rapper on crack."

"Oh wow," says Paige, trying to hold in a laugh. "Yeah, that was my critique of you in the poster for your fry commercial."

"And I never dressed like that again," says J.T., smiling.

Paige halts in the middle of the sidewalk. And I will never see Dean behind bars for what he did to me. The tears give way, and she chokes them out, bangs on the hood of some blue car parked in front of her.

"I hate this!" she yells. "I hate it! I hate it!"

J.T. takes out some keys, looks on.

"What...what am I doing?" stammers Paige. "Banging up some stranger's car."

"Keep banging," instructs J.T.

"Huh?" whispers Paige.

"Go ahead and bang it!" says J.T. "Do it!"

Paige hits the car a couple more times, J.T. doing the same. It does feel good to hit something. She laughs, the absurdity of it all coming to her. J.T. joins her in the laughter, pretends to wipe his brow.

"Woo," breathes J.T. "That's some nice hitting there, Paige."

"Yeah, but I think this lame, blue M&M-colored car with the rusty rims can take it," guesses Paige.

"Oh, it can," says J.T. "I beat my Grandma's car up everyday."

Paige looks at him pathetically. "Oh...sorry."

"Eh, I'll forgive you, if I can drive you home," replies J.T.

It's the least I can do after insulting his grandmother's car, thinks Paige. She waves to her mom and Spinner, gestures that she's riding with J.T.

"You sure, sweetie?" asks her mother.

And be with someone that wasn't in that cramped courtroom, wasn't hearing the gruesome details of that night with Dean? Absolutely.

"I'll be fine!" yells back Paige.

They get in, J.T. starting the car. They drive for awhile, Paige starting to relax, sad it's a short drive. The window's down, and she can feel the breeze, soft, one of the last days of summer sunshine, rays lighting her cheeks. Paige closes her eyes. How can you be warm and cold at the same time? She's frigid inside, trying her best not to feel it all at once.

"When did you get your driver's license?" says Paige.

"Didn't," confesses J.T.

"Sweet potato!" cries Paige. "Do you have no respect for...for rules, civic duty? Hello, what if we get pulled over?"

"I have respect for joy rides," replies J.T. "I only take it out once in awhile, when my grandmother's asleep. Spinner told me what time court ended, so seemed like an opportune time. Plus I'm almost sixteen. Chill out, Paige."

Paige slouches in her seat, tries to cover her head.

"So not getting arrested because of you," says Paige.

"Well, we're here so no worries," laughs J.T.

Paige raises her head slowly, glances out. Thank God. She punches J.T. in the shoulder. J.T. grabs his shoulder in mock pain. Paige laughs, her mind getting emptier and emptier.

"You want to be alone?" asks J.T.

"No," answers Paige. "Come on."

They both climb out of the car, Paige running to the backyard, J.T. keeping up with her. He stares at her, confused, as she stops right in front of a shed. This was where the Michalchuk family kept all the things they didn't want to see anymore. Dylan's ratty hockey equipment, Paige's awkward elementary pictures, her mother's hippie wear. At this moment, she can see herself in here, doesn't want to see herself anymore. The old Paige, she'd never lock up, the carefree Paige.

"I can never have that night back," says Paige, her stomach aching. "Never."

J.T. gently hugs her, and she cries on his jacket, her gaze fixed on the shed.

"You can't let it break you," soothes J.T. "And you stood up for yourself. You told a whole group of people. That's brave."

Paige lets him go, smiles. "You were brave first."

J.T. gives her a confused look.

"You stood up to Dean for me," says Paige.

"Oh, that!" says J.T. "That...that didn't make a difference."

"Yes, it did!" argues Paige. "It did, J.T."

"You're making the real difference," assures J.T. "Now that you've done this, it's going to haunt him. It should."

"Or he could do it again, and this will have meant nothing," says Paige, leaning against the shed door.

J.T. leans with her. "You...you don't know that."

"I do," whispers Paige, letting out a sob. "I do."

"Look, how many...girls face their rapist?" says J.T.

Paige shudders at the last word, but manages to reply. "Not...not a lot."

"Exactly," says J.T. "He's going to live with this the rest of his life, hurting you like that. But you...you can heal. You're the one that deserves respect , even if he doesn't give it to you. Forget him."

He's right, thinks Paige. The anger, the sadness, the regrets. Wouldn't they pass? She knows they can't pass now, but if she got respect from someone, J.T. that defended her without knowing all the details, unlike her lawyer who knew everything, perhaps that's some justice in itself, some reward.

Paige rustles J.T.'s hair. "You're too good a guy to be dating Manny."

"Stop it," warns J.T., playfully. "I do have one more question, though."

"Yeah."

"Can you chew gum in court?"

Paige laughs, pushes him as she walks him to his grandmother's car.

III.

"Ms. Michalchuk?" asks Zack, breaking Paige out of her reverie.

"Oh!" exclaims Paige. "Michalchuk-Mason, actually. Um...what was the question?"

"Never...never mind," stammers Zack. "You look upset."

Zack starts to stand, but Paige pulls him back down. She eventually did face her fears with Dean, albeit after totaling his car, and she can face her fears of talking about J.T. The day she found out was so horrible. Banting was going beautifully too. Her grades were good, and she got asked out a lot though she was selective. They weren't all sweet guys that gave her green teddy bears on the first date like J.T., thinks Paige, grinning. Then, Marco took a bus trip there, knocking on her dorm room door one night. He looked sour, but she figured he and Dylan were having some fight. That was the only bad part about them dating for her; she had to console both. She didn't know Marco would be the one doing the consoling.

"Michalchuk-related meltdown?" greets Paige.

"Uh...no, no," says Marco, softly. "You doing alright, babe?"

"Alright? Doing extremely well, as long as you're asking," answers Paige. "Dean's list totally happening. Prognosis for prolonged romance hopeful, gender unspecified at this point. Though RA boy, a bit hot."

"Good," says Marco, walking into the room.

"Grumpy Marco needs music," says Paige, rushing over to her stereo. "Natasha always puts you in a festive mood."

"Um, Paige...," starts Marco, taking off his beanie.

"Shhh, we'll have time to talk," says Paige, flipping on the stereo.

_Baby I'm a hopeless romantic  
You pick the sounds for the background to our drive into town  
Baby don't be one of the traffic  
Had too many nights with the wrong guys  
Caught me at red lights  
_

She remembers all the drives she had with her friends at Degrassi, trips with Spinner, Marco, Jimmy, and Hazel to the drive-in, cruising with Alex in her car when she visited earlier this year, that really special one with J.T. She wishes there were more drives with him, any more time with him really. Maybe she could invite him to a comedy show at the campus pub. That could be fun, and he'd enjoy it.

_Tell me how many frogs do I have to kiss  
Before I find my prince, before I find my prince  
All you girls that are going through this  
Tell 'em how it is, tell 'em how it is_

Pull up to a premiere, red carpet good  
You take my coat, get my chair, like I hoped you would  
You're funny and your flirting is really working for meBut where it goes from here  
Better wait and see

_Baby I'm a hopeless romantic  
You pick the view to kiss to  
Make me go ooo ooo  
And baby it'll all turn out tragic  
And you'll push for more  
Back at my front door  
More than I'm ready for  
_

"So tell me your Dylan woes," says Paige, sitting on the carpet, patting a place for Marco.

"It's not Dylan," says Marco, wiping his eyes.

Paige cocks her head. "So what is it?"

"I came here with...with bad news," says Marco, grabbing her hand.

She shivers, nods for him to continue.

"J.T...babe, he was killed a couple days ago," chokes out Marco. "I'm...I'm sorry. We...we didn't know how to tell you. Then Dylan said I should come up maybe."

Paige feels like her heart has left her chest, wonders if it's still there. Gone? No, no, he's sixteen. Sixteen and lively and sweet, amazingly sweet. Who would touch someone like that?

"No!" screams Paige. "No!"

Paige gets up, her shoulders shaking as she cries. Marco jumps up, holds her, cries as well.

"Marco...Marco, no!" whispers Paige, balling her fists. "You're lying...you have to be lying."

Marco strokes her hair, kisses her forehead. "It's going to be okay. I know, babe...I know."

She grows limp in his hold, like her body is incapable of being erect. I couldn't defend him, thinks Paige, her sight going. Couldn't defend him.

"Paige...Paige, stand for me, sweetie," says Marco, trying to hold her up.

"How...how?" whispers Paige.

"Some kid...stabbed him at a party," explains Marco. "There's nothing they could do."

Paige finds some strength, somewhere. She knows J.T. would want her to.

"His grandma...I have to do something," says Paige, sniffling. "I have to do something!"

"We'll...we'll figure it all out," says Marco. "I promise."

"Sweet potato," whispers Paige to herself. "Marco, this is...this is..."

Her voice trails off, and she lays on her bed, pulling her comforter to her chin. Marco smiles down sadly at her.

"He was a great guy," says Marco.

"I gave him his first kiss," says Paige, managing a weak smile.

_Tell me how many frogs do I have to kiss  
Before I find my prince, before I find my prince  
All you girls that are going through this  
Tell 'em how it is, tell 'em how it is  
Tell me how many frogs do I have to kiss  
Before I find my prince, before I find my prince  
All you girls that are going through this  
Tell 'em how it is, tell 'em how it is_

Oh, yeah yeah

"Really?" chuckles Marco.

"On the cheek. He smiled, and his eyes lit up a little," says Paige. "I thought we could always pick up our friendship...but now..."

"Now you'll think back on what you did for one another," finishes Marco. "And that' s not a horrible thing, Paige."

She has to agree. They'd shared so many jokes, had so much fun. J.T., her little knight in the panther head and furry feet. A smile crosses her face.

"I'd give anything to hear a bad joke from him," sighs Paige.

"They couldn't be that bad," says Marco.

"What's a cheerleader's favorite drink?" asks Paige, sitting up.

"Uh, don't know," admits Marco.

"Root beer. Get it?" says Paige.

They laugh, Paige clapping as the warmest tears come down.

IV.

"Your dad was a good guy, one of the few ones left," says Paige, supplying Zack with the best answer she can think of at that present moment.

"You dated him?" asks Zack.

"Once, and surprisingly it went well," answers Paige. "But we didn't go out again."

"Why not?"

"We decided to be friends instead. I think it was the right choice."

"I don't know," says Zack. "You're pretty so maybe he made a mistake."

Paige's jaw drops, and she giggles.

"Flirt, like your dad," says Paige, kissing Zack on the cheek as he smiles.

Spinner returns, his arms loaded with a burger, relish and cheese-covered nachoes, and a soda.

"Eww, relish on nachoes?" complains Paige, pushing the plate of nachoes away as Spinner hands it to her. "Don't want it."

"But...forget it, man," says Spinner, rolling his eyes.

"Why are you in Toronto, Zack?" says Paige.

"Doing a family tree project," replies Zack. "Toby told me some stuff about Degrassi when I gave him a copy of the _Grapevine. _Then he told me people that knew my dad and my mom."

"Liberty," supplies Paige.

"Yeah. Do you guys know her?"

"Well, hon...uh, we weren't close in school, or ever," admits Paige. "Spinner?"

"Danny would know," says Spinner. "Um, come to the station tomorrow. Danny'll be there.'

Spinner takes a napkin., writes down a number with a pen.

"Thanks, and...uh, sorry about earlier," says Zack. "I do...respect women. And cops."

Paige stares between Spinner and Zack.

"He had porn," explains Spinner.

"And he saw it," adds Zack.

Paige slaps Spinner in the thigh with her purse.

"Owww!" groans Spinner._  
_


	4. The Young and the Hopeless

**IV. The Young and the Hopeless**

_Hard days made me, hard nights shaped me  
I don't know they somehow saved me  
And I know I'm making something out of this life they called nothing  
I take what I want  
Take what I need  
They say it's wrong but it's right for me  
I won't look down  
Won't say I'm sorry  
I know that only God can judge me _

And if I make it thru today will tomorrow be the same  
Am I just running in place?  
If I stumble and I fall  
Should I get up and carry on or will it all just be the same

'Cause, I'm young and hopeless  
I'm lost and I know this  
I'm going nowhere fast that's what they say  
I'm troublesome, I've fallen  
I'm angry at my father  
It's me against this world and I don't care, I don't care

No one in this industry understands the life I lead  
When I sing about my past it's not a gimmick not an act  
These critics and these trust fund kids  
Try to tell me what punk is but when I see them on the streets  
They got nothing to say

And if I make it thru today will tomorrow be the same  
Am I just running in place?  
If I stumble and I fall  
Should I get up and carry on or will it all just be the same

'Cause, I'm young and hopeless  
I'm lost and I know this  
I'm going nowhere fast that's what they say  
I'm troublesome, I've fallen  
I'm angry at my father  
It's me against this world and I don't care, I don't care  
I don't care, now I don't care

_  
_"Check out this guy," encourages Paul, nodding at a piece of paper attached to the brown bulletin board.

Zack closes his notepad, stands next to Paul. He was still getting used to actually being in a real police station, something he knows his father would hate. Truthfully, it looks less intimidating than the ones on TV. There were no angry murderers warning officers that their buddies would come looking for them, no drug addicts who were clearly buzzed, no snarling police dogs. Spinner told them the cells were in the back, but Zack thought he would see some prisoners being transported at the very least. Instead, he saw different desks throughout the room, a phone and paperwork on each. Paul, bored, kept wondering around, hoping to find something exciting. Apparently, he had. There were white warrant ads stapled on the board. Paul points to a smirking, blonde man in a polo sweater and black pants, the hint of a beard on his face.

"Wanted for three counts of piracy, and one count of lewd conduct," reads Paul. "Peter Stone. What's piracy?"

"Copyright infringement," supplies Spinner, shining his badge and sitting at his desk.

"Huh?" says Paul.

"It means you copy stuff you shouldn't copy," explains Zack. "You know, that little warning that comes up before the movie?"

"We still haven't found him," confesses Spinner. "Daddy probably paid for him to flee."

"Well, were they bad movies?" asks Paul, walking with Zack to Spinner's table.

"Your point?" says Spinner, beginning to type some numbers on his phone.

"If it's the _Spider-man_ trilogy, I see no harm in sharing film achievement," replies Paul. "But if it's something corny like _Legally Blonde_..."

"Man, get over there and wait for Danny!" interrupts Spinner, red-faced.

"It was a joke," mutters Paul. "Reese Witherspoon used to be hot."

They both head to the other side of the room, take a seat in two empty chairs. His best friend was clearly uninterested, but Zack certainly was interested. No, today, he'd be meeting the first relative connected to his adoptive parents. Danny Van Zandt. Or Daniel? Which should he call him? An even odder question: was he black or white? He had always wondered, because he was definitely lighter than the other black kids in his school, but definitely darker than Paul and Veronica. His parents were black, and strangers would always ask why Zack was lighter, but the family themselves never made a big deal about it. That's how Zack felt too, that it wouldn't make a difference in the end, though every now and then, he'd ponder it.

Plus, if this guy is his mother's brother, he'd be able to see some of her features in him, right, some of Liberty's face? Liberty. Such a strange name, but he kind of liked it. You didn't run into many Libertys. There were lots of Zacks in the States.

"Van Zandt," says Paul to himself. "That sound German to you? He's probably going to be this pale blonde guy. Like that Peter dude."

"I'm not sure. Names can be deceiving," says Zack.

Paul laughs quietly. "You could've been Zack Van Zandt. Totally at the back of the alphabet."

"Shut up," says Zack. "And it doesn't sound so bad."

No, it sounded pretty okay, really, thinks Zack, smiling slightly.

"He'll be here in a minute!" yells over Spinner, putting down his phone.

Zack blows out a deep breath. The article on the comic book industry was complete, him finishing it last night. The rest of the trip, he'd spend filling out the family tree, meeting people he could've met a long time ago, meeting people he could've grown up with instead of his parents and friends in Seattle. He can feel something heavy rooted in his chest, and his palms start to sweat. Ugh, why was he doing this again?

"_I shot the sheriff_, _but I did not shoot the deputy_," sings a skinny guy with a mildly controlled, dark-haired afro. "_I said I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy. Oh no no._"

The guy is in a white, button down shirt, dusty jeans, and sneakers, not dressed like an officer at all. Zack sighs, guessing he has to wait longer for Danny to show.

Spinner taps his head with a pencil. "Don't sing that, man, especially in a station."

"Chill out, Sergeant Gavin," replies the guy. "My mentees like a sense of humor. Better bad jokes than juvy, right? So where are the two young men whose destinies I can help shape?"

Spinner raises an eyebrow.

"Dad's lingo, not man," explains the guy.

"Over there," replies Spinner. "And they're not mentees. Said that to get you here on time...for once. They'll do a better job of explaining why they're here. But be careful because they love to talk smack...or uh, talk back too."

The man runs a hand through his afro, walks to Zack and Paul. Zack tries to place his age, maybe twenty-four, twenty-five, barely out of college. He has wide eyes, a mischevious smile, but tall, remarkably tall. He looks like a basketball player, albeit one that never practices.

"You two here for the Big Brother program?" he asks, patting Zack's shoulder.

"No," answers Zack, looking down at the hand.

"Ah, I see," says the guy. "You told Officer Mason that you weren't here for mentorship. That's fine, dudes. Hey, you don't have to be ashamed. We all make mistakes. Seize the day. Climb the mountain, one step at a time. Any life can be saved."

"Did you swallow an out-of-print, self help book?" questions Paul, then pretends to gag.

"Hey, I'm using my best material on you," defends the guy. "Stop your delinquent ways. Get you on the right track. What can I do for you?"

"Stop touching me for one," replies Zack, taking his hand off him. "And we're here to meet Danny Van Zandt."

The man chuckles. "Well, that's obvious based on your attitudes."

"I'm so confused," mumbles Paul.

"I know," says Danny. "Most mentees are. So what'd you do? Shoplift some glocks? Buy pot on your bicycles? I've heard it all."

"Look, we just want to meet Danny Van Zandt," says Zack, rolling his eyes. "If I wanted a speech, I'd go home and get it from my dad, who doesn't use overripe cliches."

Danny strokes his forehead. "This is going to be difficult."

Zack groans, opens up his backpack, pulls out the skateboard decals and the sweatshirt.

"We wanted to ask about these, okay?" says Zack.

Danny retrieves the decals from Zack, eyes nearly come out of his head. Zack wonders if this button-down shirt guy ever rode a skateboard. Under the weak light in the station, Danny fingers one of the Tony Hawk collector's decals, a decal of a blue-shirted Tony sailing on a green board.

"The treasure chest," whispers Danny, then covering his mouth.

"Yeah, my parents' chest," speaks up Zack, glancing at Paul. "Can you get Mr. Van Zandt please?"

"Um...I'm...I'm Danny," stammers Danny, standing and peering hard at Zack.

Zack grips his notepad hard. This was his uncle? He's definitely not pale or blonde as Paul thought, having dark brown eyes, deep tan skin, and wild, brown, thick hair. It startles him to see how young he actually is, though he knew his parents were teenagers when he was born. That was one little nugget the Crewes provided, that and the "heart-warming" facts that his dad died, and his mom was going off to college, leaving no contact information with them.

Danny and Zack continue to stare hard at one another, Zack's muscles tensing. What should he say, or maybe it'd be better to let Danny talk first? Paul provides another option, breaking in.

"You are black, Zack," says Paul, glancing between them.

"Of course he's black!" insists Danny, throwing Paul an annoyed look. "Well, uh, half of you is."

"And the other half?" prompts Zack.

"J.T. was white," informs Danny.

Oh, thinks Zack. That sort of explained a lot, but it is a little much to sink in, finding out your ethnicity in two minutes when you haven't known for twelve years. Wow, but there's not much time to mull that over. He has a lot more to ask.

"Liberty's kid...Liberty's kid," whispers Danny, pacing in front of them, then exclaiming. "This is...this is insane!"

"So you're my...my mom's...brother?" stammers Zack, hoping to draw his attention back to him..

"Her younger brother," says Danny, stopping, nodding. "I never...um...got to..."

Danny doesn't finish, bends down in front of Zack, hugs him gently. Zack raises his eyebrows. Strangest hug ever. Danny pulls away awkwardly, giving Zack a weak smile.

"I never got to see you," says Danny, filling in the blanks. "Only J.T., Liberty, and Toby were in the hospital room. Man, you have Liberty's nose, her hair too."

Zack's a little thankful that he didn't get Danny's unmanageable afro, but doesn't say that, because Danny seems like a pretty nice guy. Although, knowing that he has something of his mother's, especially his nose which he always liked, makes him thankful too.

"This is weird," says Zack, smiling. "I have an uncle."

"All my uncles are old," mumbles Paul, frowning.

"Are you healthy? Your parents treating you right?" questions Danny. "You're not a runaway are you?"

"Oh, no," says Zack, quickly. "I'm taken care of and everything. Here on business."

"Personal business," adds Paul.

"I...I came to figure out who I am," says Zack. "Sorry about being rude, but I am...kinda anxious."

"I would be too," soothes Danny. "So you want to know about this chest?"

Zack nods silently.

"My friend Derek's adopted too, so he told Liberty about this chest his mom made for him," explains Danny, sitting down on a desk. "Me, Liberty, J.T., and Derek all put in stuff. The decals...those are mine."

"You're a skater?" asks Paul, his jaw dropping.

"Yeah!" exclaims Danny. "I mean, I was, back in the day."

"Mkay, you don't look like one," says Paul.

"Things change, kid," says Danny, staring at the decals. "Things change."

II.

Things certainly have changed. He can recall jumping out of his bed, his quiet household sleeping soundly on Saturdays as he pulled on loose-fitting tees, baggy jeans or cargoes, and sometimes his blue windbreaker if it was cold. He'd then race down stairs, prop one of the sprinkled doughnuts he hid in the lower kitchen cabinet in his mouth, grab his decorated skateboard, and leave a note on the fridge, saying where he'd be. If he didn't leave that note, he was dead, or worse, he'd receive a lecture from Mr. Van Zandt who'd make it a two hour event.

He swung by J.T.'s on a regular basis, and like himself, the only thing that would get J.T. up that early on Saturday was the call of the pavement, and the skate park had loads of it. Fresh pavement where they could sidewalk surf, be careless, only the sound of zooming wheels in their ears.

One Saturday, the zooming was extra intense, like the buzzing of a swarm of bees, and Danny had always wondered why that day was different. Glancing at Zack again, he wonders if maybe, maybe it was some type of warning, a warning regarding the most crucial enemy of a beginning boy friendship– a girl.

"_So Mannylicious dumped you?" laughs Danny, kicking up his skateboard as he and J.T. head to the spine ramp near the rental place._

_J.T. fastens the strap to his red helmet, hikes up his Tripp pants. Danny loves seeing J.T. sweat, most definitely when it was about a girl. But admittedly, he has to admire J.T. for even dating Manny, despite its short-lived, pretty much kissless existence._

"_It was your pump that did it," replies J.T., bumping Danny to the side._

_Danny chuckles, taking a seat at the edge of the white, wide ramp. Several boys are on the other side, one of them chowing down on a large pretzel, his spiked black hair shining under the morning sun. Wheels clatter loudly as another boy skates down the edge of the ramp, towards Danny, doing an ollie at the top of the ramp, then heading back down. Once he reaches the top, he hoots proudly, rips off his bandana, and sticks out his tongue at J.T. and Danny._

"_Is that a challenge?" yells over Danny in his best British accent._

"_Bring it, bro," calls over the boy._

_Retrieving a red bandana with a skull symbol in the back, Danny ties it around his arm, grabs his board._

"_Danny!" whispers J.T., urgently._

"_This fool's about to get served," reassures Danny, hopping up on his board._

_He glides down the ramp, air rushing past his cheeks, wind flowing past his body. As he ascends to the top of the ramp, he can feel heat in his stomach, likes it, the heat of youthful energy. His father would never understand this thrill, or else he wouldn't have threatened to take his skateboard away after he brought home that disappointing report card. But hey, at least he got two A's in Simpson and Kwan's classes. Pushing up his body, he grinds down the rail, the boys scooting back, then does a magic flip, the skateboard hovering as it flips, him landing on it. He skates back to J.T., high-fives him._

_The boy on the other side nods his approval, gives him the thumbs up. Danny smiles, waves._

"_Hungry?" asks J.T._

"_Yeah," answers Danny._

_They walk to the snack shop, J.T. loosening his helmet._

"_You're not murdering the pavement today, Yorke?" asks Danny, digging some coins out of his pocket. "Don't tell me the break-up got you that depressed."_

"_Nah," says J.T. "It's...I don't know."_

"_Spill to your man, man," encourages Danny. "It can't be worse than Manny finding you with your thing in the Anaconda."_

_Both boys nervously glance at the woman attendant in the snack shop, curiously eyeing J.T._

"_Quiet," threatens J.T., then softening. "It's strange. You ever get tired of going for girls who are...hot and that's it?"_

"_No," replies Danny._

_The woman behind the cash register smirks at his response, shakes her head._

"_I mean, Manny's my friend, right? But there was something missing while we dated. And I don't think I've ever cared about anything else before, you know?"_

"_J.T., we're young guys. We think with our hormones. You only think about that missing part when you want to get married. And even then, you should want a hot wife._ _If we weren't supposed to be following our hormones, then we wouldn't have been born with 'em." _

_J.T. hands the cashier a couple dollars, takes a hot dog from her. Danny plunks down five quarters, asks for onion rings._

"_I don't want to turn emo," groans J.T. _

"_Good," says Danny, chowing down on his rings. "Then I'd have to ditch you and hang out with Toby, friend of psycho Rick."_

_He's not sure why J.T., someone who could be cool, would hang out with a guy with a friend that brought a gun to school, let alone go to Rick's visitation with him. Maybe Manny convinced him with that little speech she gave. _

"_Leave Toby alone," says J.T., retrieving a ketchup packet. "You barely know him."_

"_Fine," sighs Danny. "Let's go."_

_A guy with a blue mohawk struts by, boombox in hand, pumping his fist in the air. Danny recognizes the tune streaming out of the speakers, one of his favorites._

"_Cause I'm young and I'm hopeless," sings Danny. "I'm lost and I know this. I'm going nowhere fast that's what they saaaaaaaaay. I'm troublesome, I'm fallen...I'm angry at my father. It's me against the world and I don't caaaaare."_

_J.T. rolls his eyes._

"_The anthem of the jaded, ambivalent generation?" asks a friendly, familiar voice to their left. _

_They turn to see Liberty, looking totally out of place in a light blue blouse and khakis, hair in a high ponytail, purple bag on her shoulders, blue ballet-style shoes on her feet._

"_Come on!" whines Danny. "I left a note."_

"_And your house key," explains Liberty, handing it to him. "Mom and Dad are visiting Grandma's, and I'll be going to a leadership seminar shortly."_

"_Oh," says Danny, nonchalantly. "Thanks."_

"_Hey, J.T.," greets Liberty._

"_Hey," says J.T. "And yeah, it's the anthem of guys who basically disappoint everyone. Should be my theme song."_

"_And mine," says Danny, shrugging._

"_Aww, J.T., that's not true," comforts Liberty. "I mean, you got tapped to direct Dracula. That's pretty big."_

"_Yeah...well," says J.T., shrugging, turning red. "You adapted the play, which is bigger."_

_J.T. blushing? What was up with that? Danny pokes J.T. with his board._

"_Okay, okay. We're all talented, all right?" says Danny. "Anyway, shouldn't you be leaving, Liberty? This isn't your scene."_

"_It has a certain charm," replies Liberty, glancing at J.T. _

"_Like broken beer bottles near the trashcan? Cigarettes butts in the corners of the street course? Truly...very, very charming," says Danny, sarcastically._

_Gag, moans Danny inwardly. Why couldn't his sister like Toby? Watching her drool over J.T. is disgusting, even more disgusting when she's taking up time when they could be skating._

"_Seminar!" reminds Danny, pointing to the exit._

"_I walked here," informs Liberty. "And I'm walking there, but it doesn't start for another forty-five minutes."_

"_You can't go on an empty stomach," speaks up J.T., taking out his wallet. "You up for a hot dog?"_

"_And some fries to go with it, yo!" laughs Danny._

_J.T. throws Danny a pointed look, Danny closing his mouth. First, he couldn't talk about Toby, and now can't make any jibes about J.T.'s lame fry commercial? What a downer._

"_I haven't eaten," says Liberty. "Okay...thanks."_

"_One hot dog, please," says J.T. to the cashier._

_J.T. and Liberty stay at the counter, talking, staring at each other as the cashier fetches a hot dog. What in the world is going on? Danny tugs at his afro, then kneels to the ground, shaking his head. J.T. didn't even like Liberty, or was he pretending not to? Hmmm, what was that expression his mother used when he tugged on that pretty girl's pigtails in preschool? You tease the ones you love?_

"_I don't have anything prepared really," says Liberty, squirting some relish on her hot dog._

"_Whatever, you always have a speech," teases J.T., smiling at her._

"_No...um, okay, I wrote five rough drafts, just in case," says Liberty. "But they're rough."_

"_Rough for you, Liberty, is like not crossing the last 't'," says J.T. "I'm sure it's good...all five of them."_

"_I'm such a brain," sighs Liberty, then biting into her hot dog._

"_Yeah, you are!" exclaims Danny, shooting up. "We were having fun 'til you showed."_

_Liberty frowns, wipes her face with a napkin._

"_Danny, chill," says J.T., forcefully. "Talking to your sister like that? Not cool."_

_Danny sees Liberty's hurt expression, rubs his neck. He knows he shouldn't snap at her, no matter how much of J.T.'s time she was taking up._

"_Sorry," says Danny._

"_It's okay," says Liberty. "Time to bid you gentlemen adieu."_

"_Adios," replies Danny, finally relieved._

"_Um, I'll walk you," offers J.T., taking off his helmet._

"_What!" cries Danny._

"_Ugh, helmet hair," moans J.T., ruffling his hair. "That okay with you, Liberty?"_

"_Sure," says Liberty, grinning. _

"_It's a bunch of boring lectures, man," says Danny. "You'll fall asleep. My parents made me go once."_

"_Can't be worse than Armstrong's class," shrugs J.T., throwing his hot dog wrapper in the trash. "Have fun, Danny."_

_J.T. takes Liberty's bag from her shoulders, straps it on, skateboard in his hands. Liberty shyly looks down as they head towards the exit._

"_What happened?" asks Danny, staring after them._

"_Hormones," says the woman behind the counter, then laughing._

_Danny really thought that would be the worst of it. No, it got worse, much worse. J.T. started coming over, more and more, acting like he was borrowing something from Danny, but Danny figured out he was only saying that to start up conversations with Liberty. It got so obvious towards the end. How could it not be when J.T. begin asking Danny for his French notes? J.T. didn't take French that year. J.T. said it was for Toby, but Danny later found out Toby already passed the course. Used for his notes. He never thought the day would come. Then there were hot tub making out sessions, lovey dovey talk near the lockers, hugging backstage during Dracula rehearsals, all right in clear view of him. He didn't feel bad at all, when he and J.T. got into a fight over him outing them to Mr. Van Zandt...that is, until he saw Liberty cry. Why? Why was he so sensitive to that? Must be that brotherly instinct._

_J.T. approached him the next day, the day after he covered for him and Liberty when his dad could've caught them again._

"_Hey," says J.T., poking Danny with his composition book._

"_Hey," says Danny._

_Danny closes his locker, walking to Simpson's class, J.T. trailing him._

_J.T. sighs. "I know...know we don't hang out as much anymore. But we're still friends, right?"_

"_No emoness, remember?" says Danny, avoiding eye contact._

"_Nah, nothing like that," says J.T. "Only...I'm really happy with your sister. And I'm sorry if you feel like left out or whatever. Didn't plan it."_

_Liberty did seem happier, happier than he believes he's seen her...ever. That had to count for something, though seeing less of your good friends was a pretty ugly price to pay. He'd have to deal._

"_You guys are a really weird couple," says Danny, half-smiling at J.T. "But...you seem kinda okay."_

_J.T. smirks. "At least I'm dating."_

"_Give me time," argues Danny. "That new chick...Darcy? So waiting for me to ask her out. It's just you've been hanging around too much, cramping my style, but you're gone now so it's all gravy."_

"_Totally waiting for you to ask her out," says J.T., putting an arm around Danny._

III.

Danny hands back the decals to Zack, who still appears frazzled. He doesn't blame him. Wow, imagine meeting your uncle for the first time in twelve years, an uncle he probably didn't know he had. Danny grew up knowing all his relatives; his father was a good lawyer, a people person, so there were bunches of barbeques, parties which were fairly dry for the most part, and his mother enjoyed socializing too.

Liberty was like that, too, at one point. She loved talking to everyone, sticking her neck out there, but almost predictably, she became more withdrawn after J.T.'s death. All her relationships were men were short-lived, Danny and his parents never meeting them. In college and grad school, Liberty studied so much Danny thought her brain would break. She told him she went to the occasional party, but he wasn't sure if she was lying to him or not. At Degrassi, before they graduated, he convinced her to go to some dances and parties, but she seldom had fun. It made sense that she wanted to shut herself away, and he feels he's the only one who got that. Mr. Van Zandt elected to bring in psychologists for her, but Danny vetoed the idea, and he convinced his mother to play along. Leave her alone, and she'll grow out of it, was his way of thinking. Was it right? He's not sure. In her late twenties, Liberty has made such a pattern of moving, from Toronto to Vancouver to Montreal to wherever her conservative pumps could carry her. She moved a lot on another day too, the day of J.T.'s funeral.

"_Black roses," assesses Danny, taking a seat behind the gold-piped organ, the smell of the flowers almost repugnant to him. "A bit morbid."_

_Liberty's finger goes down her checklist. He isn't sure what to say about that checklist, so he let her do it, asking no questions. She hadn't cried once, and usually, he hated seeing her cry, but today, he thought she'd do it at least once. It is like her tears are frozen in her eyes, struggling to get out as she makes marks on the papers, rechecks the floral arrangements, fixes the framed photo on the easel near the window. She fails to look at the photo of J.T., smiling, smiling at no one in particular. It's one smile neither of the Van Zandts can face, Danny lowering his eyes to the organ keys._

"_Ms. Cooney isn't helping at all?" asks Danny._

"_She's not up to it," says Liberty. "Her church planned this, but I met with them. We've agreed to an hour's time, hand-selected the ushers, picked out the music...um...programs should be near the entrance."_

_Danny watches her lay some programs on a table, near the collection trays, moving so stiffly. Liberty starts rifling through one program, wincing._

"_There are mistakes all over this," sighs Liberty._

_Danny rises, slowly stands beside her. _

"_I swear...I swear...it's not that hard to punctuate his name properly," stammers Liberty, sniffling. "A period after the J and one after the T." _

_Danny hugs Liberty from the side, grabs the pen from the church bulletin board, starts correcting the programs._

"_Anything else?" asks Danny._

"_That's all...all I've noticed," says Liberty, glancing up. "But that...that glare from the window...pastor may not be able to concentrate."_

_Liberty starts to go to the podium, but Danny blocks her, hugs her gently. Liberty faces the front. She feels so strong in his arms, strong but small. It's not good for her to do all of this, thinks Danny. _

"_Slow down," whispers Danny. "Slow down for a sec."_

"_I can't," chokes out Liberty. "This is me. I can't."_

_Danny releases her. He can't tell her what to do, how to feel. He's not sure how he feels yet. Liberty came home that night, went up the staircase, closed the door, and Mr. Van Zandt told him, told him that while he and Derek went home, J.T. fought for his life in a hospital room and lost. It was so hard to envision J.T., gliding down the skate park ramps, doing three-sixties in mid-air, lifeless on a street, on a hospital bed. How can seventeen years olds die? Danny's aware it's possible, but didn't consider it possible for a friend of his. The days after, he didn't sleep, not for a week, cried some. Liberty came out of her room at night, when no one was around, and he caught her sitting in the dark late one night, staring at the countertop in her robe. She appeared so hopeless, the blood drained out of her face, all that happiness zapped away. She looks the same way now, here in the church._

"_It's going to be a closed casket ceremony," says Liberty, absent-mindedly sitting in a chair. "I don't think he'd...he'd want..."_

"_For us to see him like that," finishes Danny, sitting down with her._

"_Yeah," breathes Liberty._

"_Liberty, it's...it's okay to cry," says Danny. "I won't tell anybody. I've cried a couple times. Didn't like doing it, but I did."_

"_I can't think right now, Danny," confesses Liberty. "My son's...in Seattle. J.T.'s...um...and Mia's going to be in here, the great love of his life."_

_Liberty lets out a deep breath._

"_Mia and him didn't have the history you and J.T. did," says Danny. "He cared about you too. More, I think. I...I saw it."_

_Liberty smiles weakly at Danny, holds his hands in hers, glances at the roses._

"_J.T. would hate those," says Liberty. "But Ms. Cooney thought they'd be appropriate, and I didn't have the heart to tell her no."_

"_And I'm sure J.T.'s glad you didn't," says Danny._

"_I'm glad too," replies Liberty, letting Danny hug her again._

_The funeral ran smoothly, which Danny was happy about since Liberty helped run it. His mother took Liberty home, while he stayed to clean up with Toby, Derek, Peter, and a couple others. Mr. Van Zandt was nice enough to drop Toby and Derek home, but cruel enough to make Danny accompany him to the courthouse where Mr. Van Zandt needed to pick up some files._

"_Dad, I'm tired," groans Danny. "It's been a long day."_

"_Cool out, Daniel," says Mr. Van Zandt, flicking through a file. "Besides, a place of structure would be good for you to take in."_

"_I'm sure," mutters Danny under his breath._

_Danny props himself up on a mahogany table, sure it would tick off his dad, but at that moment, he doesn't care. His thoughts are interrupted by some loud shouting, as a pair of police officers drag in a kid, handcuffed behind his back. Danny stands, his father putting an arm around Danny protectively._

"_I want out!" yells the kid. "I was drunk! I was drunk!"_

_The kid snarls, and Danny feels his heart skip a beat. He knows him. Danny narrows his eyes, grits his teeth._

"_I want bail!" yells Drake._

"_Trial first!" barks the officer. "You calm down now!"_

_The officer sets the kid down in a chair, a bailiff stepping out of the door. Red hair flips from side to side, as Drake struggles to stand. People start to come in, watching Drake move about maddeningly. The officer holds him down. In his struggle, Drake catches sight of Danny, smiles._

"_What are you looking at, loser?" yells Drake._

_The heat in Danny's face increases, him running towards Drake. Drake laughs lightly. _

"_Son!" cautions Mr. Van Zandt, catching Danny. "Stop it!"_

"_He killed J.T.!" shouts Danny. "He killed him!"_

_"I ain't do nothing!" yells Drake. "You hear me, people? Nothing. I was drunk...don't remember nothing!"_

"_This isn't the way!" exclaims Mr. Van Zandt. "We have to leave...come on!"_

_Mr. Van Zandt leads Danny down the aisle, Danny throwing a disgusted look at Drake as he passes. Once they reach the outside of the courtroom, Mr. Van Zandt's demeanor changes, him speaking quietly._

"_I didn't know he'd be there," says Mr. Van Zandt. "The court date must've moved up, or else I wouldn't have brought you there."_

"_He's up for bail?" exclaims Danny. "How is that fair?"_

"_Most likely not," says Mr. Van Zandt. "But he is a minor, so it's...it's being bandied about. They're still weighing in all the evidence and..."_

"_The evidence is in a casket!" shouts Danny._

"_They also have to do psychological evaluations," says Mr. Van Zandt. "I read it in the paper. He was a loose cannon, Danny. A drunk loose cannon. It's not all black and white."_

_Danny kicks the concrete wall opposite him. It hurt, and he's sure his toe's bleeding, but he doesn't care. None of it is fair. None. _

"_Jail time is probably a certainty," assures Mr. Van Zandt. "How much? That's unclear."_

_Tears start to fall down Danny's face. He knows he doesn't look like a man right now, should be as stoic as Liberty._

"_J.T.'s gone, Dad," whispers Danny. "I looked up...looked up to him. He hung out with me when no one else did. He was out there dying on a street while I was safe at home. I could've grabbed Drake...beat him up..."_

"_No," interjects Mr. Van Zandt. "That would've made him more upset, and I would've lost you too. Danny, there are kids...some kids who don't have any direction, and that's why I'm so hard on you and your sister. They walk the streets, clueless, get in trouble, and eventually wind up here."_

"_Put 'em in jail," says Danny, shrugging._

"_That doesn't help sometimes, Danny," says Mr. Van Zandt. "They need a positive influence in their lives. Someone to turn to before they act out."_

"_And kids like J.T. would be safe," says Danny, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve._

"_Yes," replies Mr. Van Zandt, collecting his son in his arms._

_Danny continues to cry in his father's chest, less worried about being manly than in what Drake's fate would ultimately be. He didn't consider anyone else's fate until much later, because that talk, which seemed so unimportant then, kept replaying in his mind. It replayed so often he asked Mr. Armstrong about the Big Brothers program at the community center, where he spent three years trying to help other kids have some positive influence. How positive an experience they had he's not clear about, but over half his kids kept in contact with him, and still did when he transferred to the police station as a youth counsellor. Some kids turned in their guns, others never bought them, quite a few said they looked up to him. His father pulled some strings and made it a paid position, Danny choosing to stay there instead of pursuing a college education. Liberty had most of the brains in the family anyway, but he liked to think he had the same amount of heart._

IV.

"Mr...Van Zandt?" speaks up Zack.

"Call him Uncle Danny and see what happens," offers Paul, smiling.

"Oh...oh!" says Danny, recovering. "Right. Um, so did Liberty tell you where I was?"

"I've never...never met her," confesses Zack. "We were hoping you...you knew where she was."

"You haven't met her yet?" cries Danny. "Wow. Okay, she is in the process of moving, but I do have her cell."

"Great!" says Zack, enthusiastically.

Zack is enthused. Meeting one relative, although a relative who spaced out more than he'd like, really made him want to get to know more. But meeting his actual mother? That was exciting, and scary...very scary. Come to think of it, was he ready for that?

Danny unclips his cellphone, starts going through the numbers.

"Wait!" cries Zack, holding up his hand.

"Huh?" says Danny.

"Zack, this is your chance," whispers Paul. "Your mom is a dial away."

"I'm...I'm scared," whispers Zack, trying his best to make sure Danny didn't hear him.

Unfortunately, he did.

"Liberty's sweet, man," comforts Danny. "And loving, and though she's bossy, it's because she sees the best in you and wants to push you harder."

"Sounds like Veronica on a good day," says Paul, elbowing him.

"Okay...okay, do it before I change my mind," sighs Zack. "If she doesn't like me, it's your fault, Paul."

Danny grins, dials the number, and they hear it ring. Please say yes to meeting me, thinks Zack. Please say yes.

"Heh, it's disconnected," sighs Danny.

"It is?" cries Zack.

Why is his mother always unreachable? He swears this woman can't be contacted at all.

"Don't...don't worry," says Danny. "I'll call Dad, then call her...make some arrangements."

"What'll we do til then?" asks Zack.

"Find out more about your dad," answers Paul, grabbing Zack's notepad. "Manny Santos...that's a hot name assuming it's a girl."

"You know Manny?" asks Zack, looking at Danny.

"My former hot baby-sitter? Of course," says Danny. "I'll give you the address to her studio."

"Dancing hot chicks," sighs Paul. "I can't wait."


	5. Together Again

**V. Together Again**

_There are times when I look above and beyond,  
There are times when I feel your love around me, baby.  
I'll never forget you...  
There are times when I look above and beyond,  
There are times when I feel your love around me, baby.  
I'll never forget my baby.  
When I feel that I don't belong,  
Draw my strength from the words you said,  
"Hey it's about you baby. Look deeper inside you baby.  
Dream about us together again,  
what I want, us together again, baby."  
I know we'll be together again 'cause... _

Everywhere I go, every smile I see;  
I know you are there, smilin' back at me.  
Dancin' in _moonlight,_

_I__ know you are free,  
Cause I can see your star shinin' down on me. _

Good times we'll share again; makes me wanna dance.  
Say it loud and proud, all my love's for you!  
Always been a true angel to me, now above,  
I can't wait for you to wrap your wings around me, baby.  
Sometimes hear you whisperin' no more pain.  
No worries will you ever see now, baby.  
Dream about us together again,  
what I want, us together again, baby.  
I know we'll be together again cause...

Everywhere I go, every smile I see;  
I know you are there, smilin' back at me.  
Dancin' in moonlight, I know you are free,  
Cause I can see your star shinin' down on me.

Good times we'll share again; makes me wanna dance.  
Say it loud and proud, all my love's for you!  
There are times when I look above and beyond.  
There are times when I feel your smile upon me baby,  
I'll never forget my baby.  
What I'd give just to hold you close.  
As on Earth, in Heaven, we will be together, baby.  
Together again my baby, cause...  
Everywhere I go, every smile I see;  
I know you are there, smilin' back at me.  
Dancin' in moonlight, I know you are free,  
Cause I can see your star shinin' down on me.

Everywhere I go, every smile I see;  
I know you are there, smilin' back at me.  
Dancin' in moonlight, I know you are free,  
Cause I can see your star shinin' down on me.

**Together Again is the property of Janet Jackson.**

**Ain't Nothing But A She Thing is the property of Salt N' Pepa.**

**No Stopping Us is the property of Jason Mraz.**

**The music from last chapter is "The Young and the Hopeless" and it's the property of Good Charlotte.**

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Future updates won't take as long, as I've finished the other story. In this chapter, near the end, you will see a Danny/Liberty scene. That's a little different from the others. Thanks!**

"Today I am a man," whispers Paul, straightening his jacket collar.

Zack grins. "And all before your bar mitzvah."

"Somewhere in here is the future Mrs. Rubenstein," asserts Paul.

Laced up sneakers pound, squeak, glide across the floor, preteen girls moving in near perfect synchronization in front of several mirrors attached to the dance studio walls. Zack views high ponytails flopping up and down, with each movement, his heart doing a similar motion. A CD player blasts out a heavy, pulsing beat with sick rhymes. The atmosphere feels more familiar, as there are kids his own age, genuinely having fun. It's so much different from the police station, which felt a bit cold upon first entry, with all those adults. After meeting his uncle, and hearing that maybe he can meet his mom, the coldness started to thaw. Some huge, warm hope filled his chest, him sweating with anticipation, much like the girls now popping and locking to this song.

_It ain't nuthin but a she thing, yeah _

It ain't a man's world  
You go, girl! No more sugar and spice  
It ain't a man's world, no more sugar and spice

It's a she thing and it's all in me  
I can be anything that I wanna be  
Don't consider me a minority  
Open up your eyes and maybe you'll see  
It's a she thing and it's all in me

I can be anything that I want to be  
Don't consider me a minority  
Ladies help me out if you agree

The girls twirl simultaneously, leotards shining under the bright, studio lights. Zack hates that he can't interrupt the lesson. Paul, well, he was too entranced to remind him of why they were really here at Degrassi Community Center. Paul's only response after they parted ways with Danny was "Manny Santos...just the name even sounds hot." Luckily, Manny's photograph was in the _Grapevine_ so he knew what she looked like, which hadn't been the case with his uncle. His uncle. Wow, still so odd to comprehend. More odd to comprehend, that he might meet his mother in a day or so. It's really up to her, he thinks sadly. But isn't she curious about him too? He did come all this way, after all.

"Five...six...seven...eight," calls out an exuberant voice, the sound of clapping breaking Zack's thoughts.

Dressed in a form-fitting white T-shirt and black sweatpants, Zack recognizes Manny immediately, a bit taller than in the picture, hair tied back in a messy bun, golden skin glistening. Put her next to Paige, and man, his dad knew some real knock-outs.

"And there she is," says Paul, grinning. "Pardon me while I get my flirt on."

"There's a lesson going on, man," cautions Zack.

"Because you never break the rules?" throws back Paul. "No, we'll blend."

"I am _not _dancing to Salt N' Pepa!" whispers Zack, urgently.

"Dude, you know this song!?"

"There was a VH1 marathon and...ugh! Fine."

Zack pushes Paul lightly by the shoulders, seeing their reflections inch closer to the moving flood of girls. A couple girls threw them shocked stares, but the majority were too focused on the routine. Paul situates himself between a girl with braids and a girl with wavy, red hair, grinning.

"Mind if I pass that dutch with you, ladies?" he asks.

Zack could vomit. Paul watched way too many ancient rap videos, in preparation for some career in entertainment. Well, not that he didn't, either, but yeah. He wonders what career his father would've chosen if he graduated.

The two girls pause, laughing as Paul puts his hands on his knee, starts pumping out his butt. Their laughter is so loud, it's heard over the music, forcing everyone to take notice. Paul does a very stiff butterfly, while Zack hangs his head in shame.

"Oh yeah!" shouts Paul, casting a glance at the pretty redhead. "Hebrew hotness, mami. Hebrew hotness."

Zack raises his head, sees Manny, red-faced, breath heaving, yank Paul as one of her students shuts off the radio.

"Are you cuckoo bananas?" yells Manny.

"Uhhh...for you, yeah," replies Paul.

This would probably be a good time to speak up, although Zack's not sure where to start. He does know, however, that they can't get thrown out without him learning anything new. With the possibility of meeting his mother, any information he can get will be helpful. He doesn't want to meet her as some completely clueless idiot.

"We didn't mean to bother you, ma'am...," starts Zack.

Manny shoots him an annoyed look, her mouth hanging open.

"I mean...miss...lady...," stammers Zack.

"Princess," supplies Paul, staring at her hand on his arm with pleasure.

Manny nudges Paul over to Zack, Paul almost falling, but managing to stand.

"These are private lessons," informs Manny. "I'm all for male dance students since there's a shortage, but you have to pay to stay."

"It's seventy-five for the course," chimes in the redhead, smiling sweetly at Zack.

"His girlfriend," says Paul, standing in front of Zack. "She might not like it."

"Veronica is not...," begins Zack.

"Can the flirtation," orders Manny, rolling her eyes. "Would you like to join us?"

"Not really," admits Zack. "My name's Zack Crewe. I have questions for you, Ms. Santos. About...about some stuff in your past."

Manny raises her eyebrows, glances at the clock. Her students, Paul, and Zack all do the same. Come on, thinks Zack. We did mess up her lesson, though.

"Ten minute break, ladies," says Manny.

"Yes!" cry a few voices.

Girls immediately walk over to the side, pulling out cellphones, bottled water, or change so they could get snacks from the vending machines. Manny grabs a towel, leads Zack to the hall right outside the studio.

"This isn't...this isn't related to the PoundWatchers program, is it?" whispers Manny, looking around nervously. "Gosh! They keep sending in these kids with questions, cameras to take pics of my body. There's no flab FYI!"

"Huh?" says Zack.

"It's just...just I was real tired after doing that miniseries, and my agent was shady, so got rid of him, and I needed the money," continues Manny. "Only I didn't want to be known as the Poundwatchers spokesperson, you know? Pulled out because I want to be a legitimate dance instructor. And the insurance definitely doesn't suck."

"Good?" replies Zack, shrugging.

"Little did I know, my ex-agent would try and sue me," sighs Manny. "He's desperate to prove I backed out because he thinks I'm fake, got lipo. Eh, should've got the hint when my IMDB page was never updated."

Manny strokes her head in frustration, Zack tempted to do the same. Why did his parents' friends always like to share way too much with him? I must have this permanent interested look on my face. Although, her worries seemed to have subsided.

"So why are you here then?" she says.

Better to jump right in while she's cooled down, he decides.

"Um...J.T. Yorke," answers Zack, timidly.

'J.T. Yorke!" snaps Manny. "J.T. Yorke! This better not be some sick idea of a joke or..."

"No, no!" insists Zack.

Manny folds her arms, frowns.

"He's...he's my dad," says Zack. "Well, was my dad."

The frown fades, replaced by her mouth falling open. Yeah, the typical reaction, thinks Zack, swallowing a lump in his throat. Manny's gaze goes over him, Zack blushing, looking down. He swears her brown eyes are shaking every nerve in his body. Finally, a smile crosses her face, and she tips his chin up.

"It's like all the features are coming out one by one," whispers Manny, warmly, with a trace of sadness. "Oh...J.T."

Zack can make out a couple tears lining her eyes, as she goes over, sits Indian-style on the cold community center floor. He's not clear whether it's good to join her or not. Shrugging off his backpack, he parks next to her, anyway.

"You...you guys were friends?" brings up Zack, reluctantly.

"Knew him since I was four," replies Manny, sniffling. "Me, him, and Em."

"I only...found out his name today," confesses Zack. "Danny...my mom's brother...my uncle...he told me."

"There was a time when I thought everyone would know J.T.'s name," says Manny. "He was going to be an actor."

"Really?" blurts out Zack, happily.

Wow, what a cool job, a job that was...never realized. That realization makes his blood run cold, his cheeks burn.

"In a way, his name is well-known," says Manny. "Mostly around Degrassi. We dedicated a scholarship in his honor, and...a couple years ago, they built a day care center near the school in his name since he proposed it."

Zack nods his head in appreciation. His dad is famous in a smaller way, but it's a way that matters. If he had stuff named after him, he'd be proud.

"Hearing that is nice," says Zack, quietly. "Were you proud of him?"

Manny beams at him, an expression that has given Zack the most comfort today.

"I was very proud of our friendship," provides Manny.

Unzipping his bag, Zack takes out the newspaper, points Manny to the picture of the Spirit Squad, and the variety show. He's hoping it will cheer her up, remembering better memories. He's thankful it appears it's made some difference, Manny peering down at the tiny, black and white version of herself in one photograph.

II.

Youth is so funny, thinks Manny. Then again, youth can be surprising, dark, tragic. She told Zack that pretty much everyone at Degrassi would know who J.T. was, due to some positive changes. Well, there was a time when everyone knew who she was, and not due to anything positive.

_She can barely take the jeers, the snickering, the heads shaking. A thick wool jacket covers her tiny frame, snowflakes melting off her jacket, cold wind blasting through the thinness of her hose. More laughter fills her ears with each corridor turned, and she wishes she hadn't run into Paige, who reminded her practice was that afternoon. _

_Sitting outside has become her favorite past time. She hates to admit it. The brick of the school building recalls a trip she made a month ago to another brick building, her mother in the waiting room with her. She didn't process the time between the nurse asking if she was ready, and her coming out to the Santos family car. Craig, of course, didn't agree with it. Emma called to check up on her, though the conversation was spotty. She didn't want to talk then, and it's hard to talk now._

_Manny peeps into the gym, the scoreboard still lit up after a Panthers basketball scrimmage. J.T., already in uniform, flips a switch, shuts it off. Manny turns to leave, sure she can make it out of there. Paige and Hazel, Ashley's friends, tried to be polite as possible, but she'd still feel a wave of intense dislike from them and the rest of the squad. Moving her feet, Manny's sneakers make a loud squeak._

"_Manny!" greets J.T., viewing the back of her head._

"_Hey...hey, J.T.," says Manny, slowly walking towards him._

"_The scrimmage is over," informs J.T. "That's the only reason I'm here so early. Apparently, jocks can't control the stupid scoreboard. Or maybe they think they're too cool to do it. Why me?"_

"_Well, you did it for the floor hockey game last year," points out Manny. _

"_Where Liberty was a dictator," laughs J.T. "Yeah, that's true."_

"_And I hurt my ankle," says Manny. "What if I fake an injury, get out of this practice?"_

"_Paige would still make you do a toe touch," asserts J.T. "And a backflip and be on top of the pyramid..."_

"_I am the smallest," groans Manny. _

_J.T. blushes, which makes Manny purse her lips. Lately, it seems as if J.T. is acting strangely around her. Sure, there was that crush early this year, when she chose Sully over him. Still, they were friends, and he was a brother more than anything. He'd get over the crush sooner or later._

"_After this year, I'm done," says Manny, hoping it'll break the awkwardness._

"_Come on!" protests J.T. "You're...you're the best out there, Manny."_

_Manny takes off her jacket, throws it on a bleacher where J.T. has put Paige's boombox. How can she be on Spirit Squad, when her spirit's somewhere else? Displaying a forced smile becomes tiring after awhile. Her reputation hung in the air, like a hundred raised hands ready to slap her in the face for initiating a relationship with a taken guy. Her mother didn't talk to her in the same tone as before, and if it would ever return to normal, she's not sure. Why be happy for people that hate her, or the few who feel bad for her?_

"_Don't start, J.T.," waves off Manny._

_She takes a seat on the bleachers, tapping her feet against the linoleum. J.T. itches the stomach of his mascot panther suit, sighs, flops down next to her._

"_Some good news," says J.T., after clearing his throat. "Yours truly might land a commercial. I got a callback."_

"_Seriously?" exclaims Manny, grinning._

_The grin obviously pleases J.T., and Manny tries hard to hide it. She fails, her muscles relaxing._

"_I'm not shelling high-tech gadgets or anything...it's for french fries," admits J.T. "Gotta start somewhere, though."_

"_Sounds like fun...being in front of a camera," says Manny._

"_Beats being in front of a crowd," says J.T. "With a very, very hot panther head."_

_Manny laughs, secretly hoping she'll never have to wear that outfit._

"_Smushing your skater boy hair," teases Manny. "What is it like being on camera?"_

_J.T.'s eyes glaze over, and Manny's certain it must be one of the greatest feelings her friends has ever felt. A part of her is a bit envious, that he can put himself out there and she currently can't. However, more of her is happy that J.T.'s actually taking steps to make his dream a reality._

"_Heaven on earth with pancake-y make-up on your cheeks?" guesses Manny._

"_That'll do, little Manny," says J.T., smiling. "That'll do."_

"_Babe," gasps Manny. "The first movie the three of us saw together."_

"_Yep," says J.T._

_Manny tucks some hair behind her ear. "I'll let you in on a teeny secret."_

"_Spill," orders J.T._

"_Sometimes when I was watching movies with you guys, and Em was you know, fascinated with the singing animals for whatever reason..."_

_J.T. chuckles. "Especially the country-singing dolphins."_

"_I would...like memorize the lines, and say them at home, act out the scenes?" finishes Manny. "I don't know. It's fun to pretend to be someone else, especially when you wish you were someone else."_

_J.T. bites his lip, a few moments passing with both of them speechless. Maybe I shared too much, thinks Manny. It was semi-embarrassing, even if she's known J.T. for practically forever._

"_That's standard for actors," speaks up J.T., suddenly. "You are an actress, Manny Santos."_

"_Psssh, please," says Manny, shaking her head._

"_You are," insists J.T. "And we'll do a show together. Oooh, a teenage sitcom. No, an issue of the week drama. Or...or a variety show. You twirling a baton and me doing a handstand."_

_Manny laughs, clutching her chest with her hand. The very idea of it is so ludicrous. That said, the image is probably the best thought she's had all day._

"_We'll be famous," concedes Manny. "At the top of the teenage hierarchy, like the High School Musical kids."_

"_And we'll both...dance," says J.T., pressing the play button on the boombox._

_A light, cheery song streams out of the pink boombox, echoes bouncing off the gym walls, J.T. clapping his uniform paws to the beat._

"_Should I address all my letters to the well to be  
Should I say return to sender is just a well be done  
Should I better not it so personally if all the good loving is never received  
Baby if it was me well I wouldn't think twice _

No not I...  
See its easy if you only try  
So don't lie down on the job  
Because once we hit the top there's no stopping us..."

_Manny lightly claps along, her heart a little less heavy. She watches J.T. do the running man, then a spastic snake._

"_Your snake is totally off," chastises Manny. "If Paige was here..."_

"_She isn't," interrupts J.T., helping Manny to her feet._

_J.T. twirls her around, Manny's head growing deliciously dizzy, grateful that her worries fly away as she spins. Manny curtsies, as J.T. bows, and they dance some more, the short, staccato movements unrehearsed, free. She hasn't danced like this in about a year, when she was more carefree, at that 80's dance. It was fun seeing Jimmy split his pants, but more fun to just act goofy with the teenage guy who probably knew her best._

_I will drive a thousand miles or I'll meet you at the station  
If only you would take a vacation from this thing you have created  
I promise to make it worth your while  
So c'mon try. Baby wont you try  
It's easy if you do not run  
I promise you you'll have your fun _  
_Because once we hit the top we've just begun _

There's no stopping us.

Manny holds up her hands, catches her breath. J.T. turns off the boombox.

"We're some duo," says Manny.

"That we are," agrees J.T.

Outside the gym, they can hear raised voices, Paige's voice carrying the most. They'd be coming in any second, meaning no more fun. There'd be more judgment, that's for sure. Then again, does it matter? She has one person who believes in her, right in the gym with her. Smiling, she hugs J.T., scratchy panther fur rubbing against her neck. Saying nothing, J.T. returns the hug. That's what movies and actors do, she reminds herself. They make you feel what can't be said, and embrace every part of what it is that makes you human.

III.

That includes frailty, a frailty she wasn't ready for. One night exposed it all. Damien, most likely the cutest guy at Lakehurst, brought it out, kissing her. If hearts could have goosebumps, she's sure that would be the best way to describe her feelings after their mouths met. Then, talking to Ellie showed that she wasn't made of mettle yet again, that a kiss wouldn't overpower her worries about Craig and his demons. Sadly, and most of all, she was aware that both of Zack's parents' hearts were frail, his father's body too frail by the end.

_Emma hiccups, weaves to the side, traces her fingers over the kitchen curtains._

"_These...weren't here before," she says._

_Manny hurriedly goes over, props Emma up when she slides down._

"_Yes, they were," says Manny. _

"_They're so ugly," whispers Emma, foul breath entering Manny's nostrils._

"_Wow, drunken interior design," sighs Manny. "We'll put that on your college application, right under minty fresh breath, fresher than Niagara Falls."_

"_I'd like to fall on Sean," laughs Emma, then letting out a loud hiccup._

_Thankfully, Sean has spotted them, making his way through the party crowd._

"_You get your wish," says Manny, handing Emma over to him._

_Sean struggles to get her up, managing to do so. He steers Emma to a couch, Manny letting out a sigh of relief. She really didn't want to police Emma the rest of the night. Her and her strawberry tonics. Eyes scanning the crowd, she spies Damien in a corner, talking to Liberty. The sight doesn't thrill her, though Damien told her it wasn't going anywhere. Danny and Derek drop it like it's hot, getting people to gather look, and laugh,, blocking her view. Manny moans._

"_Searching for Bill Cosby?" speaks up a voice behind her._

_Manny turns, sticks her tongue out at J.T._

"_Have no clue what you're talking about," replies Manny._

"_Dude in a sweater vest, khakis," supplies J.T. "The apple of Liberty's eye?"_

_Manny nods knowingly. J.T. only insulted guys he was jealous of. She recalls him putting down Towerz a couple times too, when he and Liberty went out. Wondering how far she can take this, she smiles._

"_Not my fault he thinks Liberty's a knockout," says Manny. "He came to see her and..."_

"_I came to see her first, and I'm never early," says J.T., then lowering his voice. "I mean, as a friend...to wish her a happy birthday."_

"_Mmmhmm," mumbles Manny._

"_No one would be celebrating it without me since I told you," argues J.T. "Toby told me he got her a mug. Who gives someone a mug as a present? That takes a lot of consideration...go to the school gift shop and pick out the most impersonal gift ever."_

"_Totally...totally impersonal," says Manny, smiling._

_J.T. glares at her. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"_

_Manny giggles, then says with mock anger: "Most impersonal gift ever."_

_J.T. elbows her, Manny elbowing him back._

"_If it eases your mind, which I know it will, Damien found someone else at the party that he digs," says Manny, blushing._

_J.T. grins. "Am I talking to her?"_

"_Could be," answers Manny. "I mean, there's Ellie, rolling her eyes to the seventh consecutive Fergie song that's been played. Emma, whose face is planted into the cushion. Alex, straightening Jay's hoodie. And me...romantically challenged."_

"_And usually more hopeful," adds J.T., staring at her with concern. "Breaking up with Craig won't kill you."_

"_If you and Liberty can't work it out, after all you've gone through...," begins Manny._

_J.T.'s eyes fall to the floor, him shifting his feet. Is he hiding something? Being honest with herself, she hasn't been sure what to make of his relationship with Mia. It seemed somewhat serious, yet he barely talked about how things were going or how he felt. Manny dismissed it as guy reserve, though if you're happy, shouldn't you share it? Everything's becoming so clear with him dissing Damien. He's hurting, as much as she is over Craig, but no, no, there's more of a chance for them. She may not be hopeful for her own love life, but his and Liberty's?_

"_Sorry," says Manny._

"_Nah, it's fine," says J.T., softly._

_Danny and Derek have stopped dancing, so she can find Damien, milling around the fireplace. However, her eyes spot Liberty headed to the porch deck, view Liberty through the window when she reaches it. Manny grabs a pot of rare flowers Snake was growing, thrusts it in J.T.'s hands._

"_Put this on the deck for me?" asks Manny._

_J.T. stares at it cluelessly, and his own gaze finds Liberty. He beams._

"_Thanks, Manny," he says._

_Manny kisses his cheek, watches J.T. leave. It's the last time they got to talk. _

IV.

Months of guilt followed, ten times worse than her falling for Damien, after inviting Damien to the party as a date for Liberty. She tried to comfort herself by saying, everything was done with good intentions. Lifting Liberty's spirits up with the party, letting the Lakehurst kids in so they wouldn't run the streets, helping Sean take care of a tired Emma as J.T. left the party. The person who she is, has always been, does that, leads with her heart.

Then again, J.T. was never the blaming kind. Well, except for if someone cut one and the stink was pretty bad. Damien reassured her too. Nothing could've been done in the midst of this rivalry that they already didn't do– the peace rally, the attempt to understand each other, Degrassi doing nothing after Toby was beaten. The reassurance made it easy to be with him. Breaking up just before college still felt right. He was bound for NYU, and her acting career was finally getting started. The occasional e-mail from him always puts a smile on her face, though most smiles after that night came from all the wonderful things she and J.T. did during their short time together. No matter the project, or the location, their variety show, done at Degrassi to a standing ovation the year before that tragic night, comes off more genuine, mostly because it's the project closest to her heart.

Manny breathes in and out, stares at Zack, who appears as emotionally drained as she does. She told him a little about Spirit Squad, and the school variety show after he explained his family tree project. Other things, she left private, including the night he died. She just didn't think she should be the one to tell him that. The resemblance to J.T. and Liberty, while startling, makes it slightly easier to talk. After all, they were both old friends.

"Who else have you met?" inquires Manny.

"My uncle, of course," replies Zack. "Then Toby, the Masons..."

"Your mom lets you skip around Toronto?"

"My parents...um, my adopted parents...they know I'm here," says Zack. "Liberty...doesn't."

Manny gasps. "Zack..."

"I know, I know," says Zack. "She might not want to see me anyway."

"I'm sure she will," says Manny.

She hates not knowing if that's true, but what else could you say to a sweet, hopeful mini-J.T.? Liberty was very strong, though maybe this would require more strength than she has at this point? Ugh, I shouldn't have said it, thinks Manny.

"Past ten minutes," whispers Manny to herself, standing.

"Thanks," says Zack, hopping up.

"Have you...seen Emma?" asks Manny. "I bet you you could catch her at the park tomorrow. It's near Degrassi and I could give you directions."

Zack shakes his head. "Haven't met her. I'd like to."

"Alright," says Manny. "First, let me check on my girls."

She and Zack reenter the dance studio, watch as Paul wiggles his butt, slaps it, the girls screaming. Manny eyes Zack, who is about as red as possible.

"He's...he's not my friend," apologizes Zack, half-smiling.

VI.

The box cutter goes easily through the tape, Liberty sliding it down the length of the box top. She has already given away a lot, even some beloved books. Money is needed, though, and she wouldn't hear about the job for a week. Better to cover all bases. Fetching a glass of iced tea, she sips, jumps a bit when she hears a knock at the door.

Hopefully, it's not her mom. She enjoyed "looking in on her", when really it was usually a meeting with Mrs. Van Zandt butting in. No, she told her. No dates yet, since I'm focusing on work. Yes, I stayed in again this weekend. She would never be as social as she was. Didn't they get that? Out of the three, Danny somewhat got it.

To her enjoyment, Danny stands at the door after she unlocks it. He's in his casual mentor clothes, clothes she helped him pick out. Danny walks in, apparently assessing all the boxes on the floor.

"Your cellphone in all this clutter?" asks Danny. "You can no longer get on me for being disorganized."

"That's where you're wrong, Daniel," says Liberty. "All items are categorized by type and acquisition, and there's a list on the counter."

Danny glances at the counter, clicks his tongue. "Whatever."

Liberty offers him a shy smile. "But yes, I'm in the process of getting new numbers."

"And your regular phone's disconnected since you're moving...again," mutters Danny.

Liberty throws him a warning look. She thought he knew better not to pry.

"Do not shrink me," says Liberty, going through the box.

"It's weird, Liberty," shrugs Danny. "I'm half expecting you to leave Canada next. It's almost like..."

"Like what?" exclaims Liberty, eyes growing wet.

"Like you're moving away from memories," says Danny, gently. "You can't do that, sis."

Liberty shoves the box away from her, goes to her apartment window, the only place where she can see the street clearly. That boy, the boy she almost ran over. He plagues her mind horribly. In the sunlight, she has seen those features. He can't remind her of J.T. Nothing can remind her of him. The moving helps. It helps.

"Save the messages for your kids," mutters Liberty, coldly.

That remark probably sounds so offensive, but it doesn't faze him. Liberty didn't want to snap, but Danny must know he's treading on sensitive territory. Danny goes to her, puts an arm around her. Yes, he knows.

"Now that we're talking kids...um...there's a boy who came in to see me...," stammers Danny.

"Yeah?" says Liberty.

"Liberty, there's no other way to say it," says Danny. "It was...it was your son, Liberty."

Her feet are firmly rooted in the carpet, her lips shake, her palms quickly get clammy. Practically the same reaction when she nearly hit the boy with her car. Son...her son in Toronto. Liberty sniffles, a few times, tears falling without her feeling them run down.

"No," whispers Liberty.

Danny lowers his eyes. "He'd like to meet you."

"Danny," chokes out Liberty.

"Everything's fine with him," assures Danny. "Very smart. He's a writer, like you. He came a long way."

Liberty covers her eyes, finally feeling the tears, the heat from them.

"I'll go with you," offers Danny. "Liberty, I think...I think it's the right thing to do. If J.T. were here, he'd...he might like that."

"You aren't me," whispers Liberty, urgently. "You are _not _in my position."

"True, but..."

"I gave him up!" cries Liberty.

"He's happy," says Danny. "He's happy!"

Happy without me, she thinks. Oh, those words sting. It's what she wanted for him, yet it stings so bad. The confusion kills her. She's only gotten to hold him once, the beauty of that never fading from her mind. She even tucked the blanket against his head before handing him off. Right then, it felt like a motherly thing to do, the only thing she could do in a few seconds.

"Leave, Danny," says Liberty, brushing past him.

Danny stares her down, and she looks away. Her family had made her feel vulnerable enough. Today, though, might take the cake.

"There's only so much running you can do," says Danny. "And before...before he went, J.T. faced hard stuff he needed to face."

Liberty shivers, lifts her glasses to wipe her eyes. He was brave, she thinks, crying harder. He was.

"You can do what he did," whispers Danny. "He's here until Tuesday. Call me."

The sound of the door shutting softly increases the speed of her breath. She sinks to the floor, cries over one of many unopened boxes in the dim apartment light.


	6. How To Save A Life

**VI. How To Save A Life**

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness  
And I would have stayed up with you all night  
Had I known how to save a life

Let him know that you know best  
Cause after all you do know best  
Try to slip past his defense  
Without granting innocence  
Lay down a list of what is wrong  
The things you've told him all along  
And pray to God he hears you  
And pray to God he hears you

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness  
And I would have stayed up with you all night  
Had I known how to save a life

As he begins to raise his voice  
You lower yours and grant him one last choice  
Drive until you lose the road  
Or break with the ones you've followed  
He will do one of two things  
He will admit to everything  
Or he'll say he's just not the same  
And you'll begin to wonder why you came

**How To Save A Life is the property of The Fray.**

**Forget Me Not is the property of Lucie Silvas.**

**Author's Note: This chapter has a small Liberty portion at the end. Thanks for the reviews!**

A woman with a crocheted shawl blows hard into a lime green handkerchief, smiles sweetly at the two boys seated on either side of her. Paul wrinkles his nose in disgust, shaking his head. Zack really didn't think it would be polite to ask an older woman to get up from her bus seat so they could sit next to each other. The woman came across a bit senile too, mumbling lottery numbers, then game show questions, then lottery numbers again. Paul eyed her suspiciously, then staring at the floor. It allows time for Zack to think.

Maybe it's better that they don't talk. He wouldn't admit it, but he was a little surprised, well, actually sad, that his uncle hadn't called yet. Based on all the accounts from her friends, Liberty seemed really nice and open. Still, what a bomb to drop on an unsuspecting person. She must have her own life going on, and messing it up is something he definitely doesnt' want to do. But would seeing him mess it up that badly? He takes off his baseball cap, runs a hand through his hair.

"Psst," whispers Paul, the woman staring at him. "What's our stop?"

"Degrassi Street and Third," replies Zack. "Shouldn't be long now."

"Oh, Degrassi, that's where my goddaughter went," says the woman, nodding. "Sweet little Darcy. In the missions field now, you know. Well, you two little darlings, be careful there. There's always something bad happening at that school. Shootings, violence...a murder awhile back."

Zack and Paul's eyebrows go up at the same time, waiting for the woman to continue. The bus stops, the door opening.

"Oh, there's my daughter's house," says the woman, happily. "So long, sweethearts."

The woman props herself up with a cane, the thudding sound of it echoing down the bus hall. Zack swallows a lump in his throat, as the bus door closes behind the woman.

"Great," mutters Paul. "We're going to a cursed place."

"Paul, come on...," starts Zack.

"Dude, I'm all about adventure and stuff, but murder!" exclaims Paul. "I'm...I'm staying on the bus."

"Wuss!" cries Zack, softly.

"Because I want to keep my body out of the line of danger?" says Paul.

"It can't be as bad as Seattle," reasons Zack. "You going to stay on the bus all day, check out Toronto via dirty bus window?"

"Place is pretty from the window," replies Paul tentatively, shrugging.

"Veronica would go," mumbles Zack. "Whatever. Meet here at four."

The bus driver stalls the vehicle in front of a residential neighborhood, birds chirping as the sun filters through his windshield. The bright rays meet Zack eyes, and he stands slowly, advances to the door.

"Thanks," says Zack, hopping off, hearing the door close behind him.

Ditched by his best friend. Meh, he should've known that without any motivation, namely dancing girls or a hockey game, Paul would look for green pastures. The playground in clear view is definitely green, however. Large, oak trees shade red monkey bars, a tall, grey slide, two reasonably big sandboxes. A boy and a girl aim water guns at each other, short spurts of water flying over a couple toddlers. No one looked bored, or sad. His dad's daycare, with Degrassi Park right next door. It's what he imagined it to be. Rarely does that happen. You can imagine a place, and have it fall short. Not today, though, and that leads Zack to start to walk forward.

Manny's description of Emma, the final friend to make up their posse, wasn't much help. He didn't say that to her, but saying a "blonde mom who totally needs to relax" may not do any good. There were a couple blonde moms, one helping her daughter onto a seesaw, another helping her son climb the steps to the slide. He watches them for a bit, hands in his pockets. The parent and child on the slide reach the top, the mom positioning the boy between her slim legs, the son screeching happily as they make their descent. His mother used to do that, and he'd feel the bump when they went down too. He's hoping they can weather any bump, even now that he's grown, that they won't care that he's here, searching for answers.

After their feet land in the sand, the woman dusts off her jeans, the boy wobbling for a little while, then running clumsily, towards him. Zack gives him a nervous grin, the boy smacking him hard on the thigh.

"Hey!" shouts Zack.

"You're it!" he yells, then laughs loudly.

"Jamie!" chastises the woman.

Jamie skips around Zack, hits him again, obviously wanting to initiate a game of tag despite his mother's protests.

"I can't play right now," says Zack, as gently as he can.

Jamie's mother crosses her arms, looks hard at her son. Jamie notices, sighs.

"What means do we promote in our household, Jamie Archibald Cameron?" scolds his mother.

Whoa, thinks Zack. Sounds like his father whenever he got in trouble.

"Peace," replies Jamie, though it sounds more like "peesh" with his small, high-pitched voice.

"That's right," asserts his mother. "If it's good enough for Ghandi, it's good enough for you."

Jamie mutters something under his breath, kicks some sand with his small tennis shoe. His mother bends down, ties his other shoelace. After finishing, she raises her head, stares into Zack's face. Strange, thinks Zack, carefully, slowly backing up. The mother's gaze shifts from left to right. Hmm, maybe Paul was right, and there is reason to be cautious. He should've stayed on the bus too.

The woman clears her throat, picks up Jamie who squirms in her grasp, heads for a picnic table. Man, I sure have a way of freaking older girls out, he thinks. The woman who hit him with the car, Paige, Manny, now her. But no, no, he has to find this Emma. Turning to his right, his nose smacks right into the chest of a man in a jean jacket, obviously in a hurry.

"Sorry, man," the guy apologizes, lugging what looks like a really heavy picnic basket.

"No prob," replies Zack.

The guy makes his way to Jamie and his mom, kisses the mother on the forehead. They appear to be a very nice family, like his own. Like Jamie, his parents were very protective, though he still knew that they cared. They seem less intimidating from this distance, and...wait, a blonde mom that totally needs to relax? Zack's jaw drops. The description totally fits. Taking a deep breath, he walks to the picnic table, passes a clattering seesaw with two kids playing on it.

"Give him the fruit juice, Sean," says the woman, putting a plate of baby carrots in front of Jamie.

"Emma, chocolate milk isn't going to kill him," asserts Sean, retrieving the juice anyway.

"Just buy skim," says Emma. "Less fat."

"He's four," sighs Sean. "No kids worry about fat when they're four."

"Fat's bad!" yells Jamie, happily, then stuffing a carrot in his mouth.

"See?" says Emma, beaming. "I'm not the only health conscious person here."

Sean laughs. "You taught him that."

Emma shrugs, glances up, notices Zack hovering. Sean raises his eyebrows at him. A very loud bird chirps in the silence, for about a full minute. Zack's palms grow more sweaty with each passing second.

"We don't buy candy bars," speaks up Sean, after clearing his throat.

"Um...," starts Zack.

"He's right," adds Emma. "We'd be willing to make a donation, though."

"You're...you're Emma, right?" blurts out Zack, surprised that he could string any coherent words together.

"Yeah?" answers Emma.

"My...my name is Zack," stammers Zack. "I...I'm sorry to bother you...only I...you...you knew my dad."

Emma twists her lips, stares past Sean at Zack. Okay, this is the longest stare ever, he thinks.

"J.T. Yorke," says Zack, softly, hoping that would help her out.

Wind rustles the trees as Emma drops her eyes. Something tells him she already knew there was something familiar about him, but was afraid to say it.

"Wow," breathes Sean, his blue eyes brightening.

Sean turns to his wife. "Em..."

"Yeah...um...um, Manny called," whispers Emma, laying down her napkin.

She's definitely disturbed that I'm here, he thinks. It serves me right. I can't assume that they'd all want to see me. Zack shakes his head, starts to walk away. He'd just stand awkwardly at the bus stop. Has to be better than the awkwardness here.

"Wait!" shouts Emma after him.

He stops right beside the monkey bars, now free from kids. Emma goes to him. She's pretty tall, skinny but healthy, blonde hair waving past her shoulders.

"This...this is hard," she says, standing in front of him, blinking back tears.

"I get it," says Zack.

"Saw you across the playground, and you just...you really stood out," says Emma, smiling sadly.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm the oldest kid, so yeah," jokes Zack, grinning shyly.

Emma laughs quietly. "True. And Jamie immediately liked you. He's...he's named after J.T., you know?"

Zack puts on a strained smile. If anyone should be named after him, he thought he'd be the one who...no, that was selfish. Besides, he thought it was sweet that someone who knew his dad would honor him in that way. I like my name anyway, he reminds himself.

"James," says Emma to herself.

"I like it," replies Zack.

"So Manny tells me that you're interested in learning more about him?"

"Actually, both my parents."

Emma cocks her head. "What, Liberty's so secretive, she hasn't told you anything?"

"That...or, um, haven't met her," reveals Zack, guiltily.

He really thought he'd get another shocked expression. No, nothing.

"I showed up to meet my dad without him knowing too," sighs Emma. "Not always a nice way to do things, though I'm sure in your case, it'll be different."

Oh, she went through the same thing as well? Hmmm, interesting.

"Did you find out stuff you liked?" inquires Zack.

"More like stuff I didn't expect," says Emma. "It all worked out."

"Can you tell me a few things?" asks Zack. "Anything."

II.

Emma looks around the park, somewhere she went so often with J.T. and Manny. They used to be pirates seeking buried treasure under the jungle gym, Manny usually stopping mid-way through the story because she insisted on being a princess instead. The next day, they'd play kickball in an open area, and Emma made sure to pick someone who got usually got picked last first the next time. J.T. thought that was a dumb move, but it wasn't a big deal to her. She was never that competitive, and she enjoyed doing her own thing. Being captain appealed to her, however. She loved, still loves being a leader. Her favorite memory in the park had her taking charge.

_Pigtails brushing her cheek, blonde bangs increasing the summer sun beating down on her forehead,_ _Emma attached some paper to her clipboard. The pavement of the street was so hot she could feel it through her light blue Keds. The clattering wagon behind her came to an abrupt stop, forcing her to throw back a look of annoyance._

"_Child...child labor," breathed J.T., resting on the sidewalk, then leaping up. "Oww! Hot sidewalk!"_

_J.T. sat down again, sighed happily. Emma groaned, tried to pull J.T. up. Man, when did he get so heavy? But nope, he was not helping, resisting by making sure his butt stayed put. Emma's effort elicited a few chuckles from J.T._

"_Ants are crawling in my butthole, but I ain't moving," asserted J.T._

_Emma hit him with her clipboard, a Hello Kitty sticker fluttering off._

"_Owww!" complained J.T. "And you lost your cat sticker!"_

"_Forget the sticker!" cried Emma. "Resting isn't going to save the baby seals in Alaska."_

"_I'm tired, Emma," groaned J.T. _

"_Someone's clubbing a baby seal while you act like a baby, and while Manny's at her ballet lesson," said Emma._

"_I'm not a baby!" protested J.T., rising. "And you know Manny's dad makes her take ballet."_

"_Whatever," muttered Emma._ _"She didn't help yesterday when she was free."_

_J.T. rolled his eyes. "I'm here. Let's go."_

_Emma squealed, hugging J.T._

"_Gross," said J.T., squirming. "Gotta get some guy friends. They don't hug."_

_They hit a few more houses, J.T. and Emma handing each of them a pamphlet on the plight of the baby seals, full of statistics and scary pictures. Emma thinks the pictures are partly the reason why Manny wouldn't help. They freaked her out, to the point where Manny cried when she first saw them. Luckily, J.T. was man enough to distribute them without fear._ _Well, as man enough as any nine-year old could be._

_Spike refused to let them go past the street Emma's grandmother lived on, so they obediently came to a stop near the park, J.T.'s face lighting up as they gave away the last pamphlet. He dropped the wagon handle, ran to the park. Emma caught up to him, light summer breeze blowing on her shoulders, exposed under a pink tank top, and her legs, halfway covered by white shorts. J.T. climbed on top of the jungle gym, orange shirt ruffling in his ascent._

"_I am king of the park!" yelled J.T., pounding his chest like King Kong._

_Emma placed one hand on the gym, stared pathetically up at J.T._

"_Come on, Nelson!" said J.T._

_Emma gulped, slowly going, leg following arm, arm following leg, without peering down. In a few moments, she was up there with him._

"_You scared?" teased J.T._

"_No," lied Emma, hands shaking._

"_Yes, you are!" insisted J.T. "I'm brave...I'm braver than Emma Nelson for once!"_

_Emma frowned, letting her head fall, shaking all over. J.T. glanced at her,_ _gently took her hand. A small smile escapes Emma's lips._

"_I don't like people knowing I'm scared," whispered Emma._

"_Me either," admitted J.T._

"_Why do you think that is?" asked Emma._

"_People believe they gotta be strong all the time," said J.T. "Like a wrestler."_

"_Wrestling promotes sexism," sighed Emma. "You shouldn't watch that."_

"_Emma, they got female wrestlers now," said J.T. "They beat up men. Get with the times."_

"_Really?" said Emma. "Oh."_

_Muscular men pounding each other still didn't appeal to her, but she left it alone. The day was so gorgeous anyway. Mosquitoes or flies weren't attacking them. There were only two other boys, eating ice cream Push-ups on the swings. Her gaze drifts to the open space where they played kickball. Really green, but pretty boring._

"_J.T. , do you ever think you'll get married?" she said._

"_What?" cried J.T., quickly letting Emma's hand go._

"_Not offering, dummy," said Emma. "I was only wondering."_

"_Uhhh...uhhhhhh," stuttered J.T., face flustered._

"_There's good stuff about it," interrupted Emma. "The person would love you, and try and protect you."_

"_From what?" said J.T., shrugging. "Bullies?"_

"_No, adult stuff," said Emma. "Heartbreak, pain, sadness."_

"_We're only nine. Don't have to worry about all that."_

_Emma nodded, not sure if she agreed. At times, her own mother was sad, maybe because she wanted to do a lot of things she didn't get to do, because of her. Go to college, travel the world, date nice guys, or really, date at all. It lead her to leave the house, or go to her grandmother's, if only to give Spike some peace. She thought these dreams might be rude since she has the same ones, but can hopes be rude? Well, she does hope to travel the world too, make some difference. Finding a husband that understood that would be icing on the cake. J.T. sorta did..the other boys in school thought she was weird._

"_Would you... marry me... if there was no one else?" stammered Emma, blushing._

"_We're...we're friends," answered J.T., glancing down through the jungle gym._

"_Yeah," said Emma._

"_So we don't have to get married, for me to like...I don't know, make sure you're happy," continued J.T., smiling at her briefly._

_Emma tugs at her tank top, grinning. "That makes sense."_

It did, and unlike things between J.T. and Manny, things were never complicated between her and J.T. That was probably the most rewarding part of knowing him. J.T. and Toby had some falling outs in the middle of their Degrassi years, also something foreign to her friendship with J.T. Nicely consistent is what she'd called their bond. That included J.T.'s semi-promise that he'd always try and make her happy.

The very hard months of their junior year came without anticipation. How did they know that Liberty would get pregnant, or that her mother's marriage to Snake would start falling apart, or that Manny's video would circulate the school? All Emma felt that year was this building pressure, this need to keep going without sitting down. If she sat down, things might pile up, split her open, reveal her weaknesses. Control came so easy, fixing meals for her mother and Manny, minding Jack, scheduling time with Peter. Grades became secondary, and eventually, so did eating. Limited time lead to her cutting it out, walking past the refrigerator, scraping food off plates to get to her chemistry homework. You can't eat if you know you're always going to feel so empty. Doing different things made her feel full, important.

Then, there was a day the control got lost, and seering pain tore at her muscles, at her heart the most. So much shock when she lay in Manny's arms, stared into her parents' worried faces. Her body couldn't be ignored anymore she guessed. Staying in the hospital was the worst. She loved to move, and to talk, and she missed the cancer relay, the only event that year she was excited about. Snake, her mom, Peter and Manny came in routinely, asking the usual– how she felt, what she ate. It was definitely a relief, when J.T. came in, not asking about that stuff, bearing balloons and his trademark, sly grin.

_He set down his backpack, started to tie balloons to the handle of a drawer, one "Get Well" balloon bouncing off his nose before it wiggled upwards. The action made Emma smile. She stretched her legs, the coldness of the sheets bothering her. Hopefully, she'd be out soon, after they monitored her habits, saw that yes, she wants to get better. J.T. sat next to her on her bed, removing a digital camera from his light jacket._

"_I can sit here, right?" asked J.T. "I'm not squashing you?"_

"_You're fine," replied Emma._

_J.T. hit a couple buttons on the camera, Emma looking down at the small window, where the first picture appears._

"_This is Toby, clutching his tummy, out of breath," started J.T._

_Emma put her knees to her chest, beaming as she views Toby running under a banner that said First Annual Degrassi Race for the Cure Relay. _

"_He finished," praised Emma, clapping her hands._

"_Yep, the last one," said J.T. "Here's Derek and Danny pouring Gatorade on him."_

_Emma laughed slightly. "Awww, poor Tobes."_

"_Eh, I think he got a kick out of it," said J.T. "Made him feel like a champion. Here's me posing with Paige and Liberty."_

_She took the camera from him at that point, seeing the two girls flank her friend. J.T.'s smile is the brightest. It's somewhat startling to see him smile so bright, after such a rocky year. He had been on suicide watch, lost his son, and his relationship with Liberty really was up in the air. What kept him going on? Surely, something more than his sense of humor. Whatever it is, she wishes she could borrow it, get back on track, have fun with her friends._

"_You guys are happy," choked out Emma, her vision getting blurry._

"_Well, we were thinking about all the good you wanted us to do," said J.T., earnestly._

_Emma sniffled. "Seriously?"_

"_Seriously," replied J.T._

_She laid her head on the pillow. Some good she was doing, being in this bed. All these medical terms were thrown around her room: diagnosis, anorexia nervosa, cognitive-behavioral therapy. They became wooden after awhile, the words landing in her head with a thud, heavy, but with her feeling no impact. Part of it hasn't hit her yet._

"_I must look so weak," whispered Emma. "They had to feed me with this tube, and I feel...so, so tired, J.T."_

"_You look alright to me," comforted J.T., gently standing up from her bed._

"_Feels like my body is giving up," said Emma. "It's fighting me."_

"_Then fight back," said J.T., forcefully. "Em, we...we can't lose you."_

"_Manny said the same thing."_

_J.T. rubbed Emma's shoulder, his wet eyes meeting her stare. Right then, it's almost as if they're back at the top of the jungle gym, with that inexplicable fear that bad times were coming, and that the only way that she can overcome them is being with people who cared for her. _

"_We almost lost you," pointed out Emma._

_That whole month was horrible, wondering when J.T. would leave suicide watch, if he'd try to kill himself with pills a second time, or something quick and more painful. Watching him walk out of the hospital door finally gave her the greatest sense of relief. Toby told her once that J.T.'s mind drifted sometimes, but it always came back. She thought he'd always come back._

"_What I did was cowardly," whispersed J.T. "I know that now. You have to be strong...when you've got people counting on you."_

"_Who's counting on me?" sighed Emma. "I'm too weak to..."_

"_If you were weak, you wouldn't be here," interrupted J.T. "The Emma we know...fights for what she believes in. I..I hope you believe your life is worth it. I do."_

_Emma let the tears rush down her cheeks, held J.T. Such a thing to say in a small moment. She never forgot it. In fact, his words drove her to improve, that and some will to do the things she thought she'd always do. It's just...just she thought J.T. would be around to hear it all when she finally did them. _

The final semester was truly difficult at first. Toby, Mia, and Liberty cleaned out his locker, which she's sure was excruciating for them, but they didn't live near the murder scene. Manny left the house too, so she had to face the place alone. As soon as she could, she signed up for the Peace Corps, to get away from this place, to follow her goals. She wrote Sean e-mails about the excursions, then kept up with him all the way through university. They dated for a year, then he finally popped the question at her home, in front of her parents. Finally, one memory she didn't want to wash away, some happy tears in a place with more painful memories. A couple years after their wedding, and Jamie made his grand appearance, "the most anticipated event since the Oscars", proclaimed Manny. Emma thought it one of Manny's more appropriate sayings, clutching her son to her chest. Sean suggested the name, and they all thought that was appropriate.

III.

Glancing in her son's direction, she grins. Jamie makes her laugh everyday, from his impersonation of Sean scowling at their disobedient car, or him mispronouncing the ingredients on food labels, or trying to outburp her brother Jack. He makes her happy without trying, just like his namesake.

"Why was my dad in the hospital?" asks Zack, bringing Emma's attention back to him.

Emma told him a small portion of the story, that J.T. needed some therapy in the year before he passed. That said, you don't want to tell a kid that his dad was dealing drugs, even if it was to get some money for the child.

"He had a sad year, talked to some people," replies Emma. "Um...anything else?"

"Not really," says Zack. "Thanks for telling me about you guys. It sounds like he liked to make people laugh. That's sorta me too."

"He was a real entertainer," says Emma. "Oh wow. Have a thought. Do you have any more free time today?"

"Honestly, yeah," answers Zack. "My friend ditched me...until four."

Emma grins, leads Zack to the picnic table, where she sees Jamie happily slurping chocolate milk through a straw.

"Sean!" moans Emma.

Sean smirks. "Calcium is good too."

"Calcium!" exclaims Jamie.

"Fine," sighs Emma.

"You guys have a good talk?" asks Sean.

"Yep, and we're going to have a good lunch," says Emma. "Then we're going somewhere."

Zack raises his eyebrows, takes the peanut butter sandwich Emma hands him.

"Nuts!" yells Jamie.

Zack and Sean chuckle quietly.

"Oh boy," whispers Emma.

IV.

Liberty fumbles for the banister, finally finds the edge of the staircase. From outside, Toby's apartment complex didn't look that big. She's sure the comic book business is paying him big bucks, but she always figured he'd live somewhere simple and small. Eh, maybe Kendra's influence. She had always been a go-getter.

Climbing to the third floor, she stares at the door to Toby's apartment. Today is one of those holidays the Americans celebrated, so she didn't know if that meant Toby was home or not, since Buzz Comics was based in New York, she thinks. But she really believes he'd be the best person to discuss this with. Taking several deep breaths, she knocks.

Toby parts the door, and they greet each other with a smile. She still somewhat towered over him.

"Hey," says Liberty.

"Haven't seen you in awhile," says Toby. "Come in."

He ushers for her to sit in a recliner, facing the TV, then sits opposite her. Photographs of him and Kendra line the mantle, and a larger, framed photo of the _Crimson Kid _is next to those. J.T. loved that comic book, and here Toby was, continuing its legacy. Speaking of legacy, sighs Liberty inwardly.

She's completely sure this will be an odd exchange. However, recalling that he was the one who stuck by her and J.T. through the pregnancy propels her to speak.

"My...my son is here," says Liberty, barely above the air conditioning flowing through the apartment. "He's...he's showed up."

"I...I met him," confesses Toby.

Liberty grips the soft arm of the recliner, shakes her head. Unbelievable. She honestly thought Toby would feel exactly how she felt, that he'd share in the shock. She makes for the door.

"Liberty...," begins Toby, going after her.

This motion is like old times, with him trying to help. His help became awkward at one point, with them sharing a kiss, a kiss they got past, but he can't help now. Toby blocks her.

"Do you remember the promise you made?" he questions.

Liberty rolls her eyes, reaches for the doorknob. Move on automatic pilot, the best coping mechanism. However, it's so hard, so hard to forget.

"You do remember, don't you?" he asks, seeing a small amount of clarity in her expression.

_How can she forget? There was lots of rain that day, a total contrast to the sunshine outside Toby's apartment window. Droplets bounced off black and white umbrellas held by the Class of 2008, onto graduation caps, blue gowns, gold honor sashes._ _Her leg bounced as she sat under the tent, erected to cover the commencement speakers, herself, the elected graduation speaker, Emma, Mr. Simpson, and Principal Hatzilakos._

_That was the first graduation ceremony that Degrassi held outside, in the park nearest school, in the open field which would eventually become the site for J.T.'s dream of a daycare. Toby and Emma really pushed for the idea to hold it there, Liberty remaining silent as the idea met with a unanimous yes from the Council. People probably thought she was still in shock since she didn't speak. Maybe so._

_Liberty righted her sash, listened to Principal Hatzilakos share the accomplishments of the year with the parents, who turned out in numbers despite the rain. She guessed it had something to do with the dedication._

"_And now we will have a special presentation by our student body president, and valedictorian, Liberty Van Zandt," said Principal Hatzilakos into the microphone._

_Her heart sped up as she walked to the podium. More than two hundred, eager eyes watched her. She gulped, proceeded, like it was a regular speech. They could only dig out the emotions of the words if they were looking for it. Turns out they were. _

"_Last semester, our class lost someone very close to us," said Liberty, hearing rain pelt the top of the tent. "Today, we celebrate on a place that was dear to him, a place where he grew up, enjoying the twin beauties of innocence and playfulness."_

_She heard Emma sobbing behind her, Snake reaching over to stroke his daughter's back._

"_Anyone that knew James Tiberius Yorke is well aware that these are two sentiments he wished to promote. His caring spirit nurtured us at Degrassi, and his love of children, displayed in our halls and in his short stint as a children's TV host, made him well-known throughout the community. That is why, on this momentous occasion, we wish to honor what would've been his last milestone as a child, about to head out into adulthood. We ask for a moment of silence as we lay J.T. Yorke's honorary diploma and cap among the Class of 2008."_

_Liberty coughed quickly, as Emma and Snake stood. Snake handed her J.T.'s cap, then a framed diploma, a black ribbon attached to the back that would be handed to his grandmother later, as she didn't have the strength to come that morning. Emma grabbed her hand reluctantly, Liberty grasping J.T.'s cap tightly. Holding Emma's hand released something in her, an annoying, almost painful lump forming in her throat, sliding down into her chest._

_In silence, they walked near the end of the row of chairs, filled with graduates, watching the two girls float by. Liberty didn't feel like she was floating, her body gone, only her hand situating the cap onto the seat. Rain covers the cloth of the cap, wetting the tassel. The boy nearest the chair, some kid with a Z name, held his umbrella over the chair. Liberty nodded her thanks, then her gaze found Toby and Manny, crying silently in their corners. She couldn't move after that, looked hopefully at Emma. Emma gently pried the diploma out of Liberty's hands, laid it next to the cap. _

_Liberty focused on the cap for a second. The black softness, the hard surface, without a head underneath. J.T. would've decorated it. She should've decorated it. She covered her mouth so the moment of silence would remain, but she buried her head in Emma's shoulder._

_Somehow, she made it to her seat again, allowed for the more positive experience of graduation to overwhelm her. Toby reminded her that J.T. would want her to be happy. The clouds even started to clear near the end, around the time Manny got her diploma. She bragged that she made the clouds go away after the ceremony, as they sampled the buffet afterwards._

"_I like outside ceremonies," commented Darcy, smoothing out her short, green skirt. "Next year, I'm making sure we have it out here."_

"_Will you wear that short skirt again?" asked Peter, putting an arm around her._

"_Yeah, but it won't be for you!" teased Darcy._

"_Ugh, Mom approaching," groaned Peter, grabbing Darcy's hand. _

"_Congrats, guys!" whispered Darcy, running to the other side of the area._

_They all laughed, Liberty sipping some punch. Principal Hatzilakos beamed at all of them._

"_I'm so proud of you, guys," said Principal Hatzilakos. "Liberty, your speech, truly touching."_

"_Thanks," said Liberty._

"_I'll be looking forward to seeing where you guys take your Degrassi educations," she said. "Have to speak the rest of the graduates. Good luck."_

_They all said bye, Emma glaring after her. Manny elbowed her, clearly not wanting her friend to get into any last confrontation with the woman who almost tore her parents' marriage apart._

_Under the tent, Ashley is playing piano, singing into the microphone, gown undone to expose a pretty silver dress. Jimmy backs her on acoustic guitar, Spinner on drums. She sings, in a pretty, calm voice:_

_Forget me not, I ask of you  
Wherever your life takes you to  
And if we never meet again  
Think of me every now and then  
We had just one day to recall  
Now all I want is something more  
Than just a fading memory  
Left wondering what could have been.  
_

"_Can't...can't imagine us not being together anymore," speaks up Manny, smiling sadly._

"_Bound to happen sooner or later," sighed Toby._

"_Toby!" exclaimed Emma and Manny at the same time._

"_Sorry," replied Toby, lowering his head._

"_You...you guys are going to be in the same country at least, right?" said Emma. "I mean, after I get out of the Peace Corps, I want friends to hang out with."_

"_I'll be in L.A. for a year, but I'm definitely coming to T.O. as much as possible," promised Manny. "Visit you and Toby."_

"_And...and you, Liberty?" prompted Toby._

_Liberty rubbed her forehead. "I...I haven't planned that far ahead. I...did get into Stanford."_

"_Oh," said Manny, disappointment evident in her voice._

_Liberty's head was really starting to pound. She was very tempted to bail on this whole afterparty._

"_That speech...that speech, guys...," she muttered._

"_Brought everything back?" finished Emma._

_Liberty shook her head. She couldn't keep being emotional. That wasn't her. In front of all those people. Her parents and Danny acted like it didn't happen, but they definitely tried to get something out of her on the car ride home. Toronto bred all these things she can't handle. Then again, this is where she met him, fell in love with him. Toronto tied them together. Canada was home. Looking from Manny to Emma to Toby, they were home too. J.T. brought them into one circle, and who is she to break it apart? It seems a bit cruel to say no, see ya later._

_Isn't it a shame, that when timing's all wrong  
You're doing what you never meant to,  
There's always something that prevents you.  
Well I believe in fate, it had to happen this way  
But it always leaves me wondering whether...  
In another life we'd be together.  
We should feel lucky we can say... we've always got yesterday  
_

"_Guys, I...I really don't want to leave," cried Liberty, tears sliding down her cheeks._

"_You promise?" whispered Manny._

"_I promise," whispered Liberty._

_Manny, Liberty, and Toby embrace in a group hug, a hug that was so similar to when they found out that J.T._ _wouldn't join them on this day, or any other day. _

_The memory will follow her everywhere, more permanent than this gown, her diploma, this hug. Wherever they go, he will be carried, loved, sustained, saved in her heart if she can help it._

"Toby, that was awhile ago," says Liberty, ducking into his kitchen, relatively clean for two young adults. "It has nothing to do with..."

"It has everything to do with Zack!" argues Toby.

Zack. That's her son. So odd hearing that name, makes it more the real that he's waiting, waiting to hear from her. Burning tears impair her vision, and she sobs.

"What do I do?" exclaims Liberty. "What would J.T. want?"

"Ummm..."

"Toby, you knew him as well as I did!" whispers Liberty through her tears. "I need to know."

"He'd want you to do what makes you happy," offers Toby, quickly.

Yeah, that's pretty much what ran through her mind after Danny left. That and the fact that J.T.'s bravery, through suicide watch, and ending the rivalry with Lakehurst, were very mature decisions, decisions she knew J.T. had in him. He didn't run, like she is doing. No running.

Liberty sniffles. "You're...you're right...and I don't...I don't know what that is."

"Maybe...maybe then, you should ask yourself what would make Zack happy," says Toby, quietly.

She brushes past Toby, places one shaking hand on the phone against the wall.

"I'll...I'll leave you alone," says Toby, slowly smiling.

Picking up, she dials. Her fingers find the numbers.

"Hello? Danny?"


	7. Stay The Same

**VII. Stay the Same**

_Don't you ever wish  
You were someone else  
You were meant to be  
The way you are exactly  
Don't you ever say  
You don't like the way you are  
When you learn to love yourself  
You're better off by far  
And I hope you always stay the same  
Cuz there's nothing 'bout you I would change I think that you could be  
Whatever you wanted to be  
If you could realize  
All the dreams you have inside  
Don't be afraid  
If you got something to say  
Just open up your heart  
And let it show the way Don't you ever wish  
You were someone else  
You were meant to be  
The way you are exactly  
Don't you ever say  
You don't like the way you are  
When you learn to love yourself  
You're better off by far  
And I hope you always stay the same  
Cuz there's nothing about you I would change _

_Believe in yourself  
Reach down inside  
The love you find  
Will set you free  
Believe in yourself  
You will come alive  
Have faith in what you do  
You'll make it through Don't you ever wish  
You were someone else  
You were meant to be  
The way you are exactly  
Don't you ever say  
You don't like the way you are  
When you learn to love yourself  
You're better off by far  
And I hope you'll always stay the sameCuz there's nothing 'bout you I would change  
No, there's nothing 'bout you I would change  
_

**Stay the Same is the property of Joey McIntyre.**

**Gone is the property of NSYNC.**

The little bobbing head of the toy panda on the dashboard moves rapidly as Sean turns the Cameron family car with a swift left. Zack glances over at Jamie, chewing quietly on some green grapes, Emma whispering Sean directions. He has to admit this is all a little strange, and his parents would kill him if they knew he took a ride from someone he barely knew. One of the Crewes' top rules was to never accept things or to go off with strangers. Yet, something keeps pulling him to all of them, a shaky trust, but trust nevertheless.

After lunch, Paul called him on his cell to tell him that his uncle would pick him up on Degrassi and Third at four o' clock. It's nearing two o' clock now, Zack notes, so that doesn't give him as much time as he'd like. He hopes wherever they're going doesn't require a lot of time.

"There's Hurst Drive," sighs Emma, happily. "Zack, we're here."

Zack stares outside the window, grins. He sees a wide, brick building, with several satellites attached to the roof, wires running across tall poles. Men unload cameras, tripods, and monitors near a loading dock. A guy with a foam, green dinosaur outfit waddles by.

"Turbo!" shouts Jamie outside the window, unclipping his seatbelt. "Turbo!"

The dinosaur waves at the two boys, starts for the entrance. Sean shudders.

"Turbo," he mutters, wincing.

"Kids love that tyrannosaurus rex," says Emma, nodding. "Jamie, stay in your seat."

"We go please?" asks Jamie, politely.

"Not today," replies Emma, patting Jamie on the head.

Emma unbuckles her seatbelt, props the door open. Zack does the same.

"Bye, Jamie," says Zack.

Jamie, still pouting, hangs his head. "Bye."

Zack goes over to the driver's side. Sean extends his hand, shakes Zack's. This guy came across a bit reserved, yet strong. Zack sort of got the impression he knew J.T. as well, but didn't want to say much. Whatever the case, he and his wife had been very helpful.

"Take care, man," says Sean, smiling slightly.

"Alright, thanks, Mr. Cameron," says Zack.

"Call me, Sean," he corrects. "Your dad...really good guy."

Zack nods, trails Emma to the front doors of the studio. Behind the glass, he can see the bustle already. A rack of costumes is being rolled past the secretary. Interns write cue cards, ipod headphones in their ears. When Emma opens the door, a waft of cool air blows against Zack's neck. The secretary greets Emma with a warm smile.

"Hey, Emma!" she says. "And who's this?"

"This...is Zack," answers Emma, gently putting an arm around him.

The gesture gives him a strange sensation at first, then it becomes normal to have it there, almost like his own mother.

"Is Mia in today?" asks Emma.

After tossing a look at Zack, the secretary wrinkles her eyebrows.

"Have we met before?" she says to Zack.

"No...don't think so, miss," says Zack.

"Oh, your face...just so familiar," explains the secretary. "I'll buzz Ms. Metzer."

"Thanks," says Emma.

Emma and Zack take a seat at the far left, a group of three costumed dinosaurs passing them, Turbo nowhere in the group. This has to be some children's station. No sign of adult programming. He wonders what they're doing here. Maybe Emma works at the studio. And who is this Mia, and why did the secretary find his face so familiar?

"Um...can you tell me why we're at a station?" inquires Zack.

Emma beams. "You'll see."

"Ms. Metzer is ready for you now, Emma," announces the secretary.

They stand, Emma leading the way. The two of them pass a number of doors, each with the name of a person, and their title underneath, on gold-plated signs pasted onto the door. Emma stops at one door, with the sign: Michael Metzer, Casting Director. Zack glances down at his T-shirt and jeans. If he knew they'd be meeting someone important, he would've dressed better. Emma opens the door, and they go in.

The first thought that comes into Zack's mind is what a fun office. There are posters with various TV personalities plastered across the wall: Turbo and Company, with the dinosaurs making another appearance; Amazing Dog Tricks, a line of poodles following a trainer; Health with Hortensia, an athletically fit, blonde trainer beaming down at him. He spies Emma's name as one of the scriptwriters. Oh, so no wonder she paid attention to Jamie's health habits so much. Besides the posters, there's a nice-sized gumball machine, a baseball, a hockey stick, and a large television set, with a state-of-the-art DVD player. Yeah, whoever Michael Metzer is must be one lucky man.

Of course, all this is before he views the woman sitting at his desk, and Zack thinks him even luckier. A bit petite, with long brunette hair, and huge dimples, Mia grins at them, rising from the desk to reveal a flowing, white summer dress.

"Afternoon, Mia," speaks up Emma.

"Hey, Emma," greets Mia. "Here on your day off? I came to visit Mike."

"I brought someone...someone special," informs Emma, gesturing to Zack.

Zack advances forward, blushes. What was with his dad being friends with all these hot women? Paul _so _would've come if he knew.

"Hi," says Mia, cheerily. "Welcome to Diamond Point Studios. Are you auditioning for a show?"

"No...no, I'm not," stammers Zack.

"That's because his dad set the bar really high," says Emma, grinning. "Mia, this is Zack Crewe. J.T. and Liberty's son."

Mia's eyes widen, and she places both hands firmly on the desk, as if she's ready to fall. She's going to faint, thinks Zack. Oh boy. Mia tucks some hair behind her ear, walks slowly to a spot facing him.

"You're so big," breathes Mia.

"Uh...thanks?" says Zack.

"I mean...not that you're not supposed to be, you know?" continues Mia. "You really favor your father."

"I do?"

Zack shoves his hands in his pockets, not sure what else to say. Mia scratches her head nervously, throws Emma an annoyed stare. She darts to a desk, starts rifling through paperwork.

"Why'd you bring him here, Emma?" sighs Mia.

Emma gently rubs Zack's shoulder, then goes next to Mia. This doesn't feel good. They were doing that adult whispering thing, when parents or teachers or anyone over twenty-one have really low voices, low voices that aren't meant to be heard. However, he can pick up traces of the conversation.

"You weren't the only one who was freaked, Mia," whispers Emma. "It scared me too."

"So you were the girl who dated J.T.?" whispers Mia, forcefully. "In the middle of the rivarly, with the whole school judging you?"

"No," says Emma. "But Zack is the one who wants to find out more about his dad. He deserves it. You knew him."

What a lot to comprehend. So, this Mia obviously dated his father. What is this about a school rivalry, though? From his friends, he didn't think his dad would get caught up in something bad. Perhaps it was friendlier than he's imagining.

"Bella never got to know her dad either," reminds Emma, these words more audible than the last since she's turned her head towards Zack.

Mia takes a deep breath, shoves the drawer in with a resolute clang. Whoever this Bella is had apparently changed her mind.

"Em, give us a sec?" requests Mia.

"Alright," says Emma. "Zack, I'll be back in a few."

Zack awkwardly sits down in an office chair, stares at the Turbo poster, as Emma heads out. Mia coughs, sits at the edge of the desk. She doesn't look eager to begin, so maybe he should get the ball rolling. That's what journalists have to do, he asserts inwardly.

"Great...great office," compliments Zack.

"My husband's," clarifies Mia. "I met him after high school."

"Degrassi, right?"

Mia shrugs. "For a couple years. Was a transfer."

Zack and Mia lower their heads simultaneously, sweat lining his brow. Somebody should come in, snap a picture, and put it next to discomfort in the dictionary. He senses that this woman's connection to his dad is pretty different, not entirely clear why. Maybe...maybe it was pretty negative. He hates to ask.

"Did...did my father hurt you?" he says, quickly.

"No...no!" insists Mia. "Nothing like that."

She remains quiet after that, her heels tapping the carpet as she moves to a spot beside the television. That's when he can see her eyes getting blurry, her cheeks pink.

"You have to understand," starts Mia, trying her best to get the words out. "I met him...like right before he passed."

Zack swallows a lump in his throat. His passing, his mysterious passing. How come no one is telling him anything surrounding that? Does it involve some horrible secret? Some darker things that'll make his dad come off badly? No, no, everyone said he was a good person.

"So you hardly knew him?" says Zack.

Mia shakes her head. "I knew him...a lot more than people believe."

That last comment came out pretty bitter, though Zack's sure she has reasons for that tone. Should he press or leave it alone? Thankfully, she's finding some strength to keep on talking.

II.

Those words come out bitter, sounds it, tastes it. However, after those years of walking the halls, hearing whispers and enduring pain in a new place in such a short amount of time, being apologetic for it doesn't seem alright with her. J.T. meant a lot to her too, and unlike Liberty, she didn't have a close group of friends with her to console her. She saw Liberty lay the diploma on his chair, let Liberty arrange the funeral with J.T.'s grandmother, watched Liberty fit into J.T.'s close little pack after it all. Manny made an effort to be there for Mia at first, then went to L.A. Toby had always preferred Liberty. She knew Emma and Sean in passing only. It certainly didn't help that they were older than her, graduating, leaving her to walk the halls alone.

She'd felt pressure before, particularly at Lakehurst. Getting pregnant so young sort of invites pressure. Like J.T., she only had her grandmother for guidance. That's something they shared, one of the warmer things they shared. They talked about their invisible parents too, especially J.T.'s mother in Vancouver, and Mia's dad, who sent her a letter every year asking how Isabella was. Her dad never asked about her, only Bella. J.T. always did, though.

Wow, so weird to have a guy interested in her again. Guys would see Bella drooling on her blouse shoulder, or clapping to some inaudible rhythm, and run for the nearest exit. Her grandmother said that would all change one day. Mia refused to believe her. What teenage guy would choose baby duty over trips to the Cineplex, or want a mom instead of a single girl he could date any time he wanted? Hopeless, Mia told herself.

When she saw J.T. in the Degrassi halls, she honestly just wanted to tell him that Bella loved his show, lit up when his face came onscreen. Turns out that Mia lit up too, when she saw him across the way talking to Toby, about oatmeal apparently. P.J. J.T., or really just J.T., was a really attractive guy up close. Endearing smile, hopeful eyes, a lot like Zack...too much like Zack. Well, she had hoped too. Asking him out was basically the best decision she made all year. Of course, he got scared too, but he did come around eventually. That single night, with Bella, their first date, made up for a lot of nights she never went out.

"_I've got mint chocolate chip, rainbow sherbert, Rocky Road...," announces J.T., setting down a tray with three small bowls._

_Isabella cooed, pounded her spoon against the table. Mia held her daughter in her lap, pointing at the tray._

"_Which do you want, Bella?" cooed Mia. "Which do you want?"_

"_Shejelshine!" replied Bella._

"_Uhhhh...," said J.T., scratching his head._

"_Give her the sherbert," laughs Mia, shrugging. "She likes a lot of colors."_

"_Executive decision made by the pretty mom," said J.T., nodding, sliding the bowl in Bella's direction._

_Mia felt her cheeks flush, taking the spoon from her child. She began to feed her, her dark eyes meeting J.T.'s every now and then. The mall bakery wasn't too crowded that day, only a handful of people, but J.T. and Mia are the only ones she focused on. He stared at her so tenderly, more tenderly than she thinks she deserves. It must be weird for him, dating her without knowing all the details. Still, she can't tell him all that on their first date. He'd never want to see her again. _

"_Too bad they didn't have...didn't have orange pie, eh?" joked J.T., nervously._

"_Um, yeah," said Mia. "You...you should've...um, saved the orange pie the girl smashed in your face. Not washed it off."_

"_Well, I think my skin is permanently orange now," said J.T. "Oh well, a lot of actors get those weird, orange-y tans. I'll fit in."_

_Mia grinned, Bella putting her small hand over her mother's in an effort to try and feed herself._

"_Is...is that what you want to be?" asked Mia. "An actor?"_

"_Yeah. I'm happy here, though," replied J.T. "I get to meet a lot of nice...a lot of nice people."_

_J.T. smiles at her, then shifts his gaze. Mia beams, then Bella starts to squirm, cry a bit._

"_Oh, is it too cold, sweetie?" said Mia, rubbing Bella's arm._

"_Cold!" complained Bella, rubbing her lips._

"_Awww," sighed Mia, jogging Mia up on her knee, trying to help cheer her up._

_Mia knew she had sensitive teeth, but ice cream never bothered her before. Being a fifteen-year old parent brought all this weight upon her shoulders. Glancing around, she's sure people are staring as Bella cries, wondering why she hadn't waited, until she knew everything she had to. One woman shakes her head at Mia, smirks before digging back into her banana split. Judgement on her first date. Mia stared at J.T. pathetically, his warm expression not fading._

"_Hey Bella," said J.T., taking her small hand._

"_Bah," responded Bella._

"_You know what a really good trick is for stopping a cold mouth?" he asked._

_Bella blinked at him, tears no longer falling from her brown eyes._

_J.T. purses his lips, making a squelching sound, shakes his head violently. Bella squeals, giggles, does the same._

"_Brain freeze!" shouts J.T. "Aaaah!"_

"_Aaaaaaah!" screams Bella louder._

_Mia smiles, laughs quietly._

"_Whyyyyyy?" exclaims J.T._

"_Whyyyyyyy?" shouts Bella._

"_Y-Z," sings J.T._

"_You know the first three, right, Bella?" encourages Mia._

"_A...B...and C," sings Bella._

"_Yay!" congratulates J.T., clapping along with Mia._

_Mia lifted Bella up, J.T. tickling her stomach as Bella giggled. Finally, someone who loved kids, didn't judge her. She told her grandmother it was the best day she ever had at Degrassi. It...it still was the best day. She kept the menu they ordered off of. She couldn't throw it away._

Going for ice cream seemed simple. The days after that were relatively simple too. A week later, complications started, though. She wished Nic never came to that basketball game, and as noble as he thought it was, that J.T. never got involved in that scuffle. She started hearing all these rumors, about what Nic planned to do to the guy who was dating his ex, what J.T. planned to do to defend their relationship. Grabbing the fliers circulating the auditorium one day, she found out for herself. There was no way she'd let J.T. face Nic and his crew. He was too kind, too slight, too compassionate. Bella looked up to him for that, and so did the other kids who watched his program. Thankfully, ending it didn't take much convincing. J.T. walked away. She invited him in that night, which wouldn't sit well with her grandmother, who was over a friend's with Bella, but she didn't care. He needed somewhere to cool off. Light-hearted J.T. returned several hours later.

_Mia huffed as she finished her outline for her geography paper in the adjoining room. She should've done it days ago. Perrino's expectations were almost impossible to meet. She feels something light, plastic touch the leg of her pants. Ugh, random baby bottle. This place was always such a mess, because she never had any time to clean it. _

"_Sorry for this mess," said Mia, brushing back her long, curly ponytail._

"_Have you seen my locker?" called J.T., from the next room. "There's stuff growing in there. Brown, last time I checked."_

"_Should I be worried that you're fixing dinner then?" shouted Mia._

"_No, you really can't mess up Shake-n-Bake," replied J.T._

_Mia covered her mouth, laughed. "Oh my goodness."_

_J.T. nudged the door open with his waist, holding a plate with a porkchop and potatoes, green chives making a happy face in the white mush. He set it in front of Mia, who sat on the couch._

"_Your food is smiling," said J.T._

"_What?" chuckled Mia._

"_Hey, that's an original P.J. J.T. recipe, mkay?" said J.T. "Healthy too. Bella liked it."_

"_No wonder Grandma took her for the night," kidded Mia. "No...J.T., I love it. Really."_

_Mia kissed J.T. softly on the lips, lets it continue, until J.T. pulled away a bit, grinned._

"_Does my breath stink?" questioned Mia._

"_No...uh, mine does," answered J.T., putting on his best smile._

_Such a forced smile, noted Mia. Eh, sometimes J.T. was so open, so open it surprised even her. The physical intimacy, however, remained very strained. Call her crazy, or out of practice, but after the first month or so, that got easier usually. Not the case with J.T. She did wonder if it had to do with him dating "the Lakehurst mother", as she was often called in the halls of Degrassi. Still, a deeper part of her has considered that maybe...maybe it has to do with the school president he argued with intensely, passionately whenever they met. To be fair, J.T. cut her down in their discussions several times so no wonder she was confused. Liberty 3000...the unemotional robot. Or is that because he wants her to feel some emotion, to be in love with him, to always be in love with him? She wishes it was all clear. She doesn't think it's fair to ask those things, though, not yet, since the relationship is new._

"_Doesn't stink to me," said Mia, patting his knee._

_J.T. chuckled nervously, goes to the boombox, presses a button. Soft music feels the room. He extended his hand to Mia. A study break is so worth it, she thought, taking it. Feeling an arm wrap around her waist, his cheek against hers, all so wonderful. Nic never held her like this. That made sense, though. Nic was a boy. J.T., today especially by walking away, was a man. A goofy, charming man._

_There's a thousand words that I could say  
To make you come home (yeah)  
Seems too long ago you walked way  
Left me alone  
And I remember what you said to me  
Kept on acting so strange  
And maybe I was too blind to see_

"_What...what is this!" teased J.T._

"_Bella likes...she likes NSYNC," lied Mia, glancing at the boombox._

"_No, I think her mom likes NSYNC," laughed J.T._

_Mia buries her head in his shoulder. "Shut up."_

_I've been sittin here  
Can't get you off mind  
I try my best to be a man and be strong  
I drive myself insane  
Wishing I could touch your face  
But the truth remains  
Your gone (gone)  
Gone (baby your)  
Gone (your gone)  
(Baby girl you're) Gone  
Gone  
Gone  
Gone  
_

_Mia held him tighter, felt him tense up. The one lyric about "baby girl, you're gone" made him especially unrelaxed in her arms. He would eventually move on, fall in love with her, loosen up. You can fall in love with someone else, she reminded herself. I did._

J.T. never did. He never got the chance to. Even after that brave decision to not go after Lakhurst, even after Toby was attacked, he kept his word to her. He left it alone. Words don't save you. She couldn't stop crying. Holding Bella offered no comfort, or talking to her grandmother, or talking to J.T.'s grandmother, who broke the news to her. They all seemed like strangers at that moment. Barely back at home before Ms. Cooney came, she slipped to the pink floor of her bedroom, shook uncontrollably. They really believed she was out of it, having some panic attack.

Bella probably knew something was up too. She slept for most of that day, just slept and slept, remarkably quiet. Mia moved on peer instinct for the next two weeks, feeding Bella when she had to, eating when she had to. She avoided Manny, her only real friend at the school, since Manny hung with Damien. Any Lakehurst reminders she couldn't deal with. That's probably what lead to her encouraging Emma to protest during the cheerleading competition. Not the best move, she has to confess now. She was just so mad back then.

Didn't they get it? They were all with him, got to be with him that last night, the last night of his life. Like watching some bird you cared for fly away, that final flight. Or getting that final view of your child leaving you for kindergarten, something she experienced with Bella. It just seems so right to see them off. Instead, she comes home to find him gone, with no good-bye. So they can't blame her for keeping out of contact for a few years. Can they? Besides, accepting that J.T. really loved someone else, took some time, and it did lead her to someone else.

Leave it to Emma to reach out to her again. At the ground-breaking for the daycare, Mia broke down, eleven-year old Isabella holding onto her mother's waist protectively. Her grandmother sent her the information, and with as much heart as she could muster, she went. Bella accompanied her, eager to see the guy who made her mom so sentimental every now and then. Emma, carrying her own child, made some polite conversation, asked what was going on with her. Not much, she replied. Marriage to Michael, a TV executive, and teaching in Montreal. Michael and Emma really got along, however, and he decided that it might be more satisfying to shift gears, accept a higher paid position at the station, where J.T. used to work. The great husband that he was, he checked with her first. The decision was easier than she thought it would be. She couldn't see J.T. off then, say good-bye, but if she can be where he'll always remain, in spirit, that's just as good, right? Then, she never has to say good-bye, and that would be alright.

IV.

Zack looks past Mia at a couple photographs positioned on Michael's desk. He views a gangly man with glasses, a crooked smile. Honestly, that wasn't the guy he envisioned Mia marrying, but it is the type of guy he can believe works in an office with a gumball machine. Next to Michael's picture, he sees a pretty, dark-haired girl, maybe around fourteen, in jean shorts and a red T-shirt.

"That your daughter?" questions Zack.

"Yep, that's Isabella," replies Mia, sniffling, wiping her eyes.

He really enjoyed hearing that his dad was a good support system for Mia and her daughter. That said, why Bella and not him? It seems like J.T., a name so fresh in his mind, was ready to be a father. He must be missing something. Did Liberty not want him? He can't come up with any conclusions, and perhaps he shouldn't, until he talks to her. All journalists have to take in both sides. That's a fact. Sometimes the heart doesn't accept facts, though. He clears his throat.

"What was P.J. J.T. about?" asks Zack.

Mia opens her mouth to speak, is interrupted by the door parting. Emma and Michael enter. Michael walks a little weird, Zack notices, then he sees that Michael's pants are pretty high, socks showing.

"Hi, young man," says Michael, offering his hand. "It's a pleasure...a real pleasure."

Zack shakes it, a bit tired of handshakes. Ugh, he wonders if his dad ever got tired of them too.

"Zack...Zack, we have something to show you," speaks up Emma.

She presents him with a DVD, Zack raising his eyebrows.

"That's the tribute, isn't it?" whispers Mia.

Emma nods solemnly. "A tribute to your dad. The studio made it that year."

Zack fingers the DVD case gently, his pulse racing.

"Watch it whenever you want," insists Michael.

"Um...I'd like people to be with me," says Zack, gulping. "So...maybe now?"

"Okay," says Michael.

Not sure who to give it to, Zack holds it out. Emma is about to reach for her, but Mia takes it instead, begins to set it up. Michael and Emma's mouth hang open in surprise, although Zack figures this is the only thing she can do right then, busy herself. Mia presses play, kneels down next to Zack. Michael flicks off the lights.

A bouncy, light-hearted tune fills the room. Zack grins a little, heart speeding up as the pacing of the music increases. The screen shows a black canvass, where the light grows brighter and brighter. Cameras shift onscreen as applause sounds, the theme song ending.

"And now...kids, both young and old, presenting...," says the announcer, pausing between words with intensity. "It's P.J...J.T. Yorke!"

Two wooden, blue doors open, and there he is. His father. No one lied to him. The eyes are the same, and so is the smile. Light, brown, shaggy hair covers his head, a joyous expression filling every part of his face. He wears a checkered shirt under some overalls, red bandanna tied around his neck. Zack touches his neck, feels his Adam's Apple, tears burning at the back of his eyes.

"Howdy Toronto!" yells J.T., moseying to a desk erected on the stage. "Just flew in from Oklahoma and boy, are my arms tired!"

A few kids in the studio audience laugh, eyes shining with excitement.

"But it wasn't so bad. Met some friends along the way," continues J.T. "Like a scarecrow that doesn't talk."

A couple of the cameramen, visible to the side, chuckle, as well as some cue card-holding interns.

"Rats that don't share," complains J.T., shaking his head.

"Boo!" chastise a few of the mothers, and their kids.

"And this," says J.T., ducking down, retrieving a cage.

"Oooh," says a whole audiennce.

Inside, the cage is a baby chick, fluttering around, cheeping.

"Now, this may just be my opinion, but I always like to have pictures of my friends," says J.T. "How about you, guys?"

"Yeah!" shouts one girl. "Except Lily. She don't like pictures."

The audience laughs, J.T. holding it in. Two little girls approach the desk, a girl with caramel-colored hair and another with her hair in cornrows.

"Well, that's exactly what I wanted to hear," replies J.T. "Because today, along with the help of my special friends Brianna and Kelly, we're going to draw our friend here, using various materials. Including feathers, glue, crayons, and scissors. Now, since this involves scissors, what do we need?"

"A grown-up!" say a few kids at the same time.

"Yes," agrees J.T. "It's very important that you're safe, so get mommy, daddy, or a responsible person to help."

Zack bites his lips, watches J.T. set out the materials, Brianna and Kelly doing the same. Why couldn't he be in their place, setting out the yellow feathers, the Elmer's glue? He grips hard on the arm of his chair.

"We should name him!" exclaims Brianna.

"That's a good idea," says J.T. "What should we name him?"

"J.T.!" cries Brianna.

Emma, Michael, and Mia laugh in the darkness, along with the studio audience. Zack keeps his gaze on his father, waiting for his response.

"Well, I hope you're not a girl," sighs J.T., winking at the camera.

The image of his father darkens, a soft, sweet melody playing. A tear runs down Zack's cheek as different pictures pass: J.T. elegantly dancing with Brianna in a ballet costume, making faces with Kelly right into the camera, putting his arms around a couple cameramen, bending down to autograph some of the kids' arts projects. In every frame, he smiles, throws his arms into the air with intensity, is hugging someone. If he could have only one hug, that would be enough.

_Don't you ever wish  
You were someone else  
You were meant to be  
The way you are exactly  
Don't you ever say  
You don't like the way you are  
When you learn to love yourself  
You're better off by far  
And I hope you always stay the same  
Cause there's nothing about you I would change  
_  
Mia grasps Zack's hand, squeezes it, but Zack keeps his sight on these few moments of his father's life. The images change to that of a younger J.T., in a multi-colored wig, arms around a younger Manny and Emma; pretending to tap-dance in a backyard; stuffing an entire ice cream bar into his mouth, smiling, chocolate chips spread across his lips. Zack has to laugh at that. He does, choking a bit.

_I think that you could be  
Whatever you wanted to be  
If you could realize  
All the dreams you have inside  
Don't be afraid  
If you've got something to say  
Just open up your heart and let it show you the way  
_

His father had lived his dream, found friends he loved, been on TV, made people happy. A couple more pictures show J.T., with a more serious expression on his face, Mia to his right, Isabella seated on his lap. Zack glances down at his lap, then up again. A message sprawls across the screen: James Tiberius Yorke: We Love You.

_And I hope you always stay the same  
Cause there's nothing about you I would change  
No there's nothing about you I would change  
_

The screen goes black, the DVD stopping. Zack's chest heaves hurriedly in the stillness, in the darkness until Michael switches on the light. Mia offers him a timid smile. Zack catches his breath. Seeing his father, this skinny, somewhat goofy, amazingly loved kid, and he can't touch him, have the chance to love him. No wonder his mother's so worked up about it. No wonder he's speechless.

"Zack?" says Mia, gently.

"You...you can have it if you want," says Michael. "I made a copy."

"Thank you," chokes out Zack, covering his eyes.


	8. Here's To The Night

**VIII. Here's to The Night**

_Here's to the nights we felt alive  
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry  
Here's to goodbye  
Tomorrow's gonna come too soon_

_Put your name on the line along with place and time  
Wanna stay not to go I wanna ditch the logical  
Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well_

_Here's to the nights we felt alive  
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry  
Here's to goodbye  
Tomorrow's gonna come too soon_

_All my time is froze in motion  
Can't I stay an hour or two or more  
Don't let me let you go  
Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well_

**If I Could Write is the property of Sam Phillips.**

**Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. This chapter was emotionally hard to write, and as you can, it's pretty long. There's one more, the epilogue, also difficult for me, but I do hope you enjoy them. Thanks for the reviews. :)**

The roughness of the bench near the bus stop doesn't even begin to bother him. Several buses have gone past, doors cluttering open, drivers viewing a kid with the most crestfallen expression imaginable, clutching a DVD in his hands. The tears had dried, but Zack's eyes still stung. The warmth of the sunshine is no longer warm, just hot, unflinchingly hot.

He politely declined Emma's offer to stay until Paul's uncle showed up. The Camerons sped away, like a foreign car he's never seen. It's funny. Once they aired the tribute, that's when he realized how alien this all was, how there were so many things he didn't know. His father's face mirrored his own, yet having never met him, it's almost as if he's staring into his reflection in lake water, clear at first, then eventually being shaken away by movement, the ripples of water, tiny waves. Waves of emotion, he'd call this, if he felt any motivation to write. All these other kids got to meet him, and he never got the chance. Zack loved his parents, whole-heartedly, but what if? What if he stayed behind, spending a little time with J.T. before he left? He would have some memory at least.

Mr. Rubenstein's car pulls up to the curb, Zack reluctantly raising his head. He wipes his cheeks, hoping no one will see the imprint of his tears. Paul twists his short-sleeved blue shirt nervously, approaches him.

"Did it...did it go well?" he asks.

"As well as it could," replies Zack, shrugging. "Get tired of your sightseeing?"

"There's only so much green grass and houses one can take," says Paul, then giving Zack a concerned look. "Dude, are you okay?"

"What do you care?" snaps Zack.

Paul has some nerve, what with his happily married parents, a dad who gives him everything, a dad he's able to see everyday. You have a dad, reminds a voice in his head. And there's no doubt Chris Crewe was a good father, despite his strict nature. Ugh, he feels so torn, ready to bounce on anyone. Was he being disloyal to them by coming to Toronto? The Crewes love him. No, no, thinks Zack. The only disloyal person right now is Paul. Or maybe not.

Zack stands, walking aimlessly down Degrassi Street. Paul catches up to him.

"What is with you, man?" exclaims Paul, grabbing Zack's arm.

Zack slinks out of his grasp. "You're spoiled and a selfish friend."

"I'm...I'm sorry for not staying!" says Paul. "But you're...being a real jerk, Zack."

He stalls, turns around. A tear rolls to his nose as he smirks.

"Well, I'm sorry too," says Zack. "I'm sorry that I just watched this tape of my dead dad playing with a million other different kids, after giving me up. Especially since he looks like me. Yeah, Paul, it doesn't hurt at all."

Paul shakes his head, puts a hand on Zack's shoulder. Zack knows this anger isn't aimed at Paul, but he felt the need to throw it at someone, especially since the situation can't be helped.

"I wish I never watched this," whispers Zack to himself.

"No...no, I feel like you should've," confesses Paul. "I'm not sure, but like...you should know where you come from, right?"

"Yeah," agrees Zack, sniffling. "Paul, I'm..."

"Sick of hearing the word sorry," waves off Paul. "And yeah, very aware of my spoiled existence. A pro knows how to take advantage of it, though."

They both laugh, exchange a high-five. He's glad Paul's so forgiving, hopes his parents are the same way when he returns. Boy, he'd be leaving tomorrow night. All his interviews ensured that he'd do well on his two projects, so why isn't he happy? His uncle Danny failed to contact him, signaling that Liberty probably wasn't interested. He guesses she's still trying to get past all of this, can't confront the past. Still, isn't he the present? Even if she didn't like it, he was around, and yes, part of her. Well, since she won't answer his questions, he'll find some other way.

"I want to know why my dad died," says Zack.

Paul raises his eyebrows. "Uh, okay?"

"The school's further down this street," whispers Zack, glancing at Mr. Rubenstein's car.

Inside the car, Mr. Rubenstein is singing to some top forty tune on the radio, checking his combover in the side mirror. Zack's certain he can entertain himself for an hour or so.

"Look, it's after school," says Zack. "Security's probably not as tight."

"I don't know, man...," begins Paul.

"You can't bail on me twice in one day," encourages Zack.

Paul sighs, nods. "We wind up in school, during our school holidays. Great."

He goes over, talks to his uncle for a bit, then returns. Paul's smooth talking earned them a window of thirty minutes, and then he'd call on Paul's cell. The two boys pass a couple houses, then round a corner, entering a throng of students on their way home. Good, we have cover, praises Zack inwardly. Paul smiles at a couple of girls, Zack dragging him along.

In a few minutes, they reach where his parents may've met– Degrassi Community School. Truth be told, it's not very impressive on the outside, your typical brick building with grey, stone steps and glass doors. The place was much smaller than Harring Junior High School. Actually, the kids were more intimidating, several tall, teenage boys passing him. Taller girls in cheerleading uniforms and jeans were parked on the steps, yelling some cheer about panthers. Panthers. Wait, he knew their mascot from the paper. The paper my mom edited, he remembers, which urges him to go forward.

"Alright," says Zack, unzipping his bag. "To complete the look..."

Instead of finishing that thought, he slides the Degrassi sweatshirt that was in the treasure chest over his slim shoulders. Still way too big, but it would serve its purpose.

"Breaking and entering," says Paul, gulping. "We're so getting busted."

"I've broken into Tanglewood's office at Harring a couple times," says Zack. "No, chill, alright? I may be a minor, but I'm a mastermind minor."

"Says the guy who Tanglewood has caught how many times?" reminds Paul.

"Only when someone tattled," defends Zack. "No one knows me here. Let's go."

They amble easily past the crowd, Paul a little slower on the way.

"How 'bout them Panthers!" yells Zack to the cheerleaders, raising his fist.

"The championships are done, squirt," replies one of them, the girls busting out into laughter.

"Woo," mutters Zack, weakly, grabbing the handle to Degrassi's entrance.

Red-faced, Zack glances around cautiously for any sign of an adult. Luckily, the halls were essentially empty, except for two boys clearing out their locker near the far end. Signs of the recent championship were visible– slashed posters cheering Degrassi's softball team, a pom-pom sticking out of a trashcan, confetti swept into a corner. Well, at least his parents' school has a history of winning, unlike Harring.

Eyeing the pom-pom, he spies blue and gold. Those must be the school colors. Better than black and white, Harring's less cool colors. But what could you expect when your mascot is the flying fish? Veronica told him there is a restaurant called Flying Fish in Seattle with really good food. Perhaps it was a hint of a possible date, or maybe he would've liked it to be a hint. She sort of blushed when she made the recommendation.

"Veronica would like these school colors better," brings up Zack. "She says things are never black and white, only varying shades of grey."

"She does, does she?" teases Paul. "Does Zackie miss his Veronica?"

Nah, no, he wasn't going to fall into that state of mind, and definitely not in front of Paul.

"Of course..of course not," protests Zack. "Anyway, we have to come up with some plan."

"This was your idea," says Paul.

Hmmm, time to use those journalism tips Veronica gave him. Before writing an article, it's best to research the subject. The subjects are his parents. He'd need records, records of their years walking these very halls. The principal's office was probably off-limits. A yearbook! A yearbook or a newspaper would enlighten him.

"Excuse me!" he yells to one of the boys cleaning his locker. "Um, publications office?"

"Room 213, go down this hall, to the left," answers the boy.

"Thanks!" calls Zack.

Paul and Zack hurriedly walk to Room 213, peer inside. A petite, flushed redhead paces across the linoleum floor, phone attached to her ear. Behind her are framed copies of _The Grapevine_, a plaque that read Best New Faculty Award, and a picture of her in a graduation gown. She drums her fingers, black nail polish on them, against the table, appears to be distracted. Paul pounds on the door to get her attention. She sets the phone on her desk.

"Subtle much?" whispers Zack.

"I love redheads," gushes Paul. "Plus she's hot."

The woman, who becomes prettier to Zack as she approaches, opens the office door, offers them a nervous smile.

"Here to submit pieces for the _Grapevine_?" she asks. "Although, you guys are fairly young. No worries, though. This is an equal opportunity establishment."

"Um, we...," begins Zack.

They all hear some rock music playing loudly out of the phone receiver, the woman's mouth growing tense. Paul nods his head approvingly to the beat.

"Hold on a sec," requests the woman.

"Yeah," says Zack.

The woman presses the phone to her ear.

"Craig...Craig!" she says. "Such a bright idea to call me during sound check...I've got company! I said...I've got company! What? Call you later? Like I won't be busy...you can be so selfish sometimes!"

Zack tugs at the collar of his sweatshirt. They must've caught her at a bad time.

"Don't bother calling back 'til after your tour!" exclaims the woman, slamming the phone down.

"Marital problems?" questions Paul.

The woman laughs nervously. "More like...on again- off again angst? Uh, enough about me. You're here because?"

"Zack," he says, introducing himself. "Oh, and this is Paul. We're considering transferring."

"Pleased to met your acquaintance," says Paul, beaming.

"I'm Mrs. Nash," she replies. "I help students with the yearbook, and the paper, namely the paper. Where are your parents?"

"Seat...," he begins to say. "Um, Seatillia. Yeah, um, in Canada."

"Never heard of Seatillia," says Ellie, her forehead crinkling.

"It's in the north," lies Zack.

"Way up north," adds Paul. "With moose...and yaks...and Canadians."

"'Cause we're Canadian," says Zack.

Ellie crosses her arms, staring hard at the two boys. Zack feels sweat trailing down his back, not at all due to the sweatshirt. He thought the transfer story would work. Although, if they were transferring, yeah, having adults to be their parents made more sense.

"Why are you two really here?" asks Ellie.

Zack looks to Paul for help. Paul throws up his hands.

"You can't fool journalists, I guess," sighs Paul.

"Fine," says Zack. "I wanted some information on my folks. J.T. Yorke and Liberty Van Zandt."

Ellie's face grows pale, a noticeable contrast to her deep red hair. Her black-nailed fingers find the desk again, getting a firm grip on the edge of the table.

"You're their son?" she gasps. "Call me Kerouac."

"Krueger?" says Paul, obviously confused.

"Kerouac," informs Zack. "Uh, experimental writer. Beat generation. Died young."

"You're Liberty's son, alright," notes Ellie. "Wow, this is...this is strange."

"What's strange is me remembering Kerouac," shares Zack.

"Not if Veronica says it," mumbles Paul, grinning.

Zack ignores him. "Do you...think I could see some of her stuff?"

"We have...some old stuff on file," stammers Ellie. "Wait a sec."

II.

Liberty drops two ice cubes into her lemonade, rests her back against the cool refrigerator. No more boxes littered the apartment. She was inspired to keep going after unpacking one box. Books rested on shelves, new bulbs were situated into lamps, and the clothes were hung. Going into her bedroom, with its nice color scheme of cream and grey, she spies that she's left the closet door open. She's dismayed to see that a tan flap is peeping through the darkness. Ugh, she was certain she finished off all the boxes. Her father could've left this one by mistake when he was transferring the items from her bedroom to the main room.

Kneeling, she sets her lemonade on a desk, retrieves the box, medium-sized, yet far from heavy. Linens, she tells herself. Managing to get it open, the first time she hasn't had to use a box cutter or scissors, her hands find a bunch of blankets, a fresh scent filling her nose. Pulling out one white blanket, a smaller blanket emerges from the middle, flies to the floor. This periwinkle blue blanket is small enough for a child, a baby.

"Zack," she whispers.

Danny gave her Zack's number. He offered to arrange everything, to act as her support. She refuses to ask that of him anymore. Moving, the job search, and this, she'd do all this alone. Having her parents and Danny look over her has grown frustrating. The freedom to go where she wants makes her tired as she's been running for months. When she went over to Toby's and saw how stationary his life has become, she wondered if she could do that. All her friends were settling in one spot. Emma was married, Manny traded Hollywood for a nine-to-five instructor job, and most surprising of all, Danny is comfortable too.

J.T. always offered her that gift– comfort. She felt how she wanted with him, showed him the best and worst of her feelings. He took it all in stride, let her get excited, let her vent, probably the most patient sounding board one could hope for. Every now and again, both of them were relaxed. Those instance, she wouldn't change for anything. Her neatly hung clothes make her recall one of these nights, the auditions for _Dracula. _

"_If I wear this, I'm going to look like a total loser!" complained Danny, rifling through the period garb. _

"_Be thankful you have a part at all, Daniel," said Liberty, shaking her head at her brother. "All the female roles have yet to be cast, and we're under a deadline."_

_The whole auditorium was swirling with students, most of them watching their competition try out. Liberty knew the musical Raditch pitched wouldn't have gotten this response. So far, only Manny and Alex impressed them, but unfortunately, the two of them weren't giving that aura of innocence needed for Mina. She and J.T. agreed that they still hadn't found her._

_She secretly hoped that wasn't the sole thing that met with his agreement. Two weeks ago, before Dracula was greenlit, they kissed. Where she found the nerve to kiss him in detention, she couldn't say. She was thankful for that nerve, however. Maybe standing up to Raditch brought it out. All she knew was that spending those hours in the hot tub, getting stressed over the future of the play, and those first few boring minutes of detention was worth it, because J.T. kissed her back._ _Her heart vibrated intensely while his lips meshed with hers, her head growing foggy. Ask her any trivia question, and she'd be blank after a kiss like that. Liberty broke out of her reverie, looked on as Darcy took the stage._

"_She is pretty innocent," whispered Liberty to J.T., writing Darcy's name on a sheet._

"_But can she act?" pointed out J.T. _

"_Resume's not too shabby," said Liberty, rifling through her folder._

"_Fine," muttered J.T. "Edwards, start when you're ready."_

_Darcy rubbed her throat, glanced at her script. _

"_Ummm, Manny said you were thinking of doing a musical, so what's this?" asked Darcy._

"_Darcy, the musical...," started Liberty._

"_I prepared a song," interrupted Darcy. "_Okay, so like_...five hundred seventeen thousand six hundred and five minutes...no wait, five hundred nineteen eighty-seven six hundred minutes...no, uh...seven-eleven..._ugh, that's some store...anyway..._how about love? Measures in love?_"

_Danny, Nate, and a few other students covered their ears, as Darcy belted out the Broadway tune, or rather the semblance of the tune. J.T. let his head fall to the desk. Liberty smiled politely, looked at her watch._

"_Um, it's getting late," spoke up Liberty, halting Darcy's song. "Darcy, we'll start with you tomorrow."_

"_More practice time!" gushed Darcy, clapping her hands excitedly. _

"_Which isn't going to help," mumbled J.T., as students started to exit the auditorium._

_Liberty propped her shoulder bag on a desk, went through a few pouches to retrieve the key. She promised Hatzilakos she'd lock up. Raditch never would've trusted a student to do it. But their new principal had a lot of faith in her and J.T., faith she desired to have herself. _

"_Heading home?" asked Liberty._

"_I'll stick around," replied J.T., bumping his knee against hers._

_She wasn't sure that bump meant anything. He'd been doing things similar to that a lot lately- waiting for her to come out after class, and she was usually the last to leave; asking to borrow notes, sometimes not saying which subject; standing beside her at every opportunity. Manny told her they were a shy guy's way of showing continued interest. Liberty argued that after the kiss, she would've thought he'd be more affectionate. Manny rightly said, well, it's J.T. One thing he hasn't done is mention the kiss, and she was too nervous to bring it up as well. What if he was being extra nice to her to soften the blow, prep her for a rejection? After Towerz cheated on her, he acted extra nice to her, out of guilt. Then, the truth was revealed via a braggy e-mail from the other girl, and she dumped him. J.T., cuter and kinder than Towerz, could easily find someone else, more interesting, more sexy. He did date Manny, albeit after a couple failed attempts._

"_Darcy destroying Rent paralyzed me," joked J.T. "Except for the lack of Mina, we're really making headway."_

"_True," said Liberty, massaging her neck. "How's Spirit Squad shaping up this year?"_

_J.T. dug his hand into his left pocket, pulled out something Liberty failed to see. Turning around, he positioned whatever it is into his mouth. He faced Liberty._

"_Good," says J.T., fake fangs attached to his teeth. "Fangs for asking."_

_Liberty chuckled. Her neck started to ache less, the last drama club member leaving them behind._

"_Mmmm," groaned J.T., removing the fangs. "Vampires must not kiss very often. These choppers are brutal."_

_Kissing? Liberty felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Dropping a hint might steer this conversation the way she'd like it to go._

"_They must...must kiss more than once or twice," stammered Liberty. "I mean...the feeling of it must prompt them to keep going?"_

"_Uh...maybe," replies J.T., nervously._

"_Maybe some kisses aren't like that, though," sighed Liberty. "Mistakes in the form of lips meeting.'_

_Liberty hung her head, while J.T. put the fangs back into a small container. He cleared this throat._

"_Usually...when you kiss someone... it's because you like them," said J.T., shifting his eyes. "Come on, Liberty. I thought you were smart. Your deductive reasoning didn't figure that out?"_

_Liberty and J.T. shared a smile, Liberty's gaze falling to her lap. _

"_So we're in this majority?" asked Liberty._

"_Yes," replied J.T. "Very conventional. But we're still rebels."_

"_Who sing," adds Liberty, touching J.T.'s shoulder._

"_Better than Darcy," said J.T._

_J.T. gently brushed a few strands of her curly hair off her face, his lips touching hers for the third time, the sweetest time. In the muted light of the auditorium, with the stage lights emitting warmth in their direction, her doubts disappeared. He did like her. The teasing he'd done, colder before, had become more gentle and appreciative, the touching more frequent. The kissing ended, and she couldn't help but stare, stare at the guy she's known for so long, yet is so new to her here._

"_That was...convincing," whispered Liberty, righting her glasses._

"_A prelude to more convincing, hopefully," said J.T. "Um, there's a dance coming up. The Sweetheart Dance? Wanna go?"_

"_Manny's in the planning stages from what I heard," reminded Liberty. "The funding is still being bandied about, the schedule's shaky..."_

"_Ugh, Liberty," complained J.T._

"_And...I'd love to go," finished Liberty._

"_Longest answer in creation!" laughed J.T., standing, pulling out her chair._

"_The lexicon of a wordsmith," said Liberty, shouldering her bag._

_They head to the front door of the auditorium, Liberty shutting off the lights. Going out the door, she and J.T. stood in the hall, as she locked up. A janitor grins crookedly, happy to see that he can go home now that the drama kids are leaving. They make their way to the entrance of Degrassi, Liberty pausing in front of room 213. The dark golden light of dusk streams through the front window._

"_J.T., I have to go to my locker, fetch a book," admitted Liberty._

"_Um...want me to wait?" asked J.T._

"_No, go ahead," says Liberty. _

_J.T. came forward, squeezed her hand. The golden light fills his face, brightens his features. He looked almost angelic, though with that same mischievous grin. The expression remained in her mind, all these years._

"_Bye, bookworm," he teased, leaving her alone in the hall, disappearing into the light._

The ice maker cluttering snaps Liberty out of her musings. She strokes the blanket she holds, lowers it into the box. Examining another blanket, she realizes it's an extra one for her twin bed. The material is midnight blue, the color of the deepening spring sky outside her bedroom window, the opposite of the golden light that enveloped J.T.

Still, opposites have always been attractive to her. The Sweetheart Dance went well. J.T., to her surprise, arrived punctually, found a decent pair of dress shoes to compliment a casual, dressy shirt and slacks. Danny was more taken aback by the wardrobe change, clowning on his shoes when the three of them walked to the dance together. By the time the semi-formal arrived, Danny and her parents got more used to the idea of J.T. picking her up, though her father always sat reading the paper upon his arrival, mutely hating J.T. from afar. That was when he really had no reason to hate J.T., pre-baby. Liberty didn't care at that point. For once, her studies weren't the only thing on her mind when she went to Degrassi. J.T. asking her out and her accepting became more natural, as did being alone with him.

Shaking the blue blanket,the cloth lightly covers her legs. The midnight blue shades her from the hurt of being alone, no one to share this with, since she's shared a blanket with him years ago.

"_Nah, put your finger in," instructed J.T., moving under the comforter, his elbow gently hitting the steering wheel of his car._

_Liberty gave him a tentative glance, stared at the papery product with J.T.'s finger already stuck inside. The cool spring air filtering in from the driver's side relaxed her, blanket staying stoic because the breeze was soft. She was glad for this, as the sheer material of her grey prom dress couldn't take too much cold. They are under a blanket J.T. retrieved from the backseat, huddled together in the front of his car, overlooking a serene cliff, where they can safely view Toronto, a ton of stars above their city. The whole thing seemed straight out of an eighteenth-century novel where a future city is revealed. That was Liberty's favorite literary genre, since there was a mix of macabre, but also a great deal of romance and intrigue. The intriguing romances were always the best in her opinion. She knows a lot of people were intrigued once she and J.T. started dating. Plus love invited intrigue, yet would it get her to do this?_

"_The word finger trap does not bring forth the best connotations," said Liberty, inching her finger back._

"_Got it from Gags R' Us," defended J.T. "They're legit. You trust me?"_

_She sighed, slowly putting her finger in, waiting to see what happened next._

"_Now, we've bonded for life," said J.T., smiling._

"_Awww," said Liberty, kissing him on the cheek. "It's good to be bound together, other than through a mutual love of cheese."_

"_And a distaste for watching Danny get buck on the dance floor," groaned J.T. _

"_Pretending I understand what get buck means," said Liberty, wrinkling her forehead. "Okay, I want my appendage back."_

"_Who said that was possible?" teased J.T._

"_J.T.!" cried Liberty, pulling her finger furiously. "I can't believe you...oh great...it's really not working!"_

"_No, no, relax," cautioned J.T. "We have to move at the same time."_

_Liberty releases a deep breath, moving her finger inward the same time as J.T. To her relief, the trap crinkled, and her finger was released. J.T. chuckled._

"_The wonders of not stressing, eh?" said J.T., winking at her._

"_Your life lesson is well-received," said Liberty, pushing him playfully. "Why'd you bring me out here anyway?"_

_J.T. played with his tie shyly, focusing his eyes on the black buildings and white stars shining, highlighted in his windshield. Liberty awkwardly strokes her newly free finger, then pulls the blanket over her chest. She did feel this heat, increased by some invisible spark, wondered if J.T. felt this too. Lately, making out with him brought it on, an intense need to keep going, sometimes hotter than sitting in the hot tub water in her backyard. So strange to feel so hot, especially on such a cool night._

"_So this has been an eventful night," spoke up J.T., blushing. "Manny's dress catastrophe, the successful cheese buffet, dancing with you for most of the night..."_

_Liberty laughed nervously, shut on J.T.'s car radio. J.T. looked around, draped one arm over Liberty's shoulder. She notices he's sweating a bit._

"_We...we didn't tango like you wanted," brought up Liberty._

"_The dramatic dance of lovers!" said J.T., using his best Spanish accent. "Well, we can do that some other night."_

_Liberty nodded, leaned her head on J.T.'s shoulder._

"_There are other...other things we can do tonight," stammered J.T. "Like...like in this car."_

_Her heart beat maddeningly. Liberty gulped, tried to keep her composure. _

"_Whoa," she breathed._

"_Yeah, uh...uh, pretty whoa," said J.T. _

_This year had already been big. Their first kiss, her father catching them, Danny gradually accepting them. Now J.T. wanted to move past making out and hand holding? It's not like she hadn't thought about it, too. Her attraction to him had grown, and the more moments they spent with each other, the more precious he became to her. But she always felt like he thought she was cute, not sexy. What if they did it, and he was disappointed? For all her knowledge, this is one area where she's completely lacking._

"_J.T., I'm not sure if I'm confident to...to, you know?" whispered Liberty._

"_Like I am?" whispered J.T. "Liberty, I..the pump...I swear..."_

"_No, I mean, like I want you to want me for me," admitted Liberty, blushing. "I don't exactly look like Petra Nemcova, that girl in your locker."_

_J.T. cocked his head to the side, a puzzled expression on his face, then clarity beginning to show._

"_Not terribly skinny...the glasses...not ideally your top choice to be your first," said Liberty, her eyes growing wet. "I'm..."_

"_You're my girlfriend," interjected J.T. "My very strong, smart, sexy girlfriend."_

"_Yeah, but..."_

"_When I stare at you, it feels different," continued J.T. "I get proud when you tell me the stuff you do well in Student Council. I get excited when you laugh at my jokes. I read your articles in the Grapevine first. Doesn't that count for anything?"_

_Liberty removed her glasses, wiped away a tear._

"_That counts for everything," she said softly._

_J.T. reached for her, Liberty melting into his strong hold. She wasn't sure before, but yes, he was, so she was. He felt secure, and soft in the same moment. Staring into her eyes, his untrapped fingers caressed her shoulders, delicately slid down one of her dress straps. Each move seemed so organic, especially when J.T. moved his mouth against hers. The music from the radio helped her mind drift._

_If I could write_

_I'd set all the words free to follow you_

_Tell you wonder, tell you secrets and solitude_

_I've had to let go of so much_

_It's hard to hold on now_

_Something far off is pulling me and _

_When I go this time, I don't think I'm coming back. _

"_I love you, Liberty," he said, catching his breath, gazing into her greenish-brown eyes._

"_I love you, too, J.T.," she returned, unbuttoning his dress jacket._

_J.T. grinned, watching her take off his jacket. He patted a bulge in his pants pocket, indicating that yes, he brought something. Liberty nodded, pulling him closer to her, the blanket moving with them._

The whole experience was sweet and perfect to her. He asked all the perfect questions, like are you alright, are you warm, are you happy? All his answers met with a contented yes. For the guy that used to shirk back whenever she touched him, J.T. couldn't stop touching her then. He drove her home, and she failed to stop smiling that entire night, and then at breakfast the next morning. Her father asked what was wrong, and Danny commented she must've been high on sugar cereal. More like high on love. The next few times were like that too, J.T. always soft and considerate, until the extra large condom.

Liberty's still not able to articulate the goings-on of that night, because they were careful every other single moment together. Some regret accompanied the whole thing. However, viewing their baby pushed all the regret to the side. She can't lie; she freaked when her water broke in Toby's car. How ironic. Conceive in a car, break your water in a car. Luckily, Zack was born in the hospital, had a healthy delivery. Her son snuggled against her chest, light-colored eyes blinking in confusion. She would've told him she felt confused too, about what she should do. Truth is, they weren't ready to be with him. Maybe someday, someday it would all change. Not today, though. Not that day.

Making the chest soothed her a bit, however, and smiling at J.T. over the chest, she could tell he felt the same. They did eventually tango, during the variety show party, but they struggled to talk afterwards. The next year proved just as difficult, Liberty hanging with Toby mostly, kind of as a courtesy, secretly wishing that would ensure more interaction with J.T. Her wish came true.

The first day of school, sure enough, J.T. was with Toby, and they all agreed to walk to their last year of school as a trio. The awkwardness wasn't as bad as she thought, and Toby disappeared to try and get a locker change seconds later. Liberty pulled at her pretty summery top, light green, watched J.T. open his locker. Unzipping his bookbag, he threw in the old stand-bys. Textbooks with messy papers stuck in between the pages, his rubber chicken, his squeaky red clown's nose. He pulled out a poster, unfurled it. Petra Nemcova. Liberty should've figured, eyes falling to the floor. After all their fighting, and her giving up their son, he wouldn't want her anymore.

She turned to leave, hearing a rip, paper being shred. J.T. tossed the remnants of Petra in a trashcan. Sighing, he opened a pencil case, twirled a finger trap between his thumb and forefinger, set it on the top shelf. Liberty smiled, started down the hall in the opposite direction.

Then, things got tricky. Mia came, so bubbly and sweet and in need of a shining knight in a mascot uniform. Liberty avoided all avenues they took in the halls. She put on her stone face as J.T. fought passionately for the daycare for Mia's daughter, cried in her room after that Council meeting. How could he have forgotten so soon? She was in his life first, or didn't Mia know that? She encouraged him to try out for his TV show, told him to stop dealing oxy, held his hand in the hospital after he took all those pills. History doesn't disappear in an instant.

And neither should J.T.'s life, she thinks, standing, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.

_Liberty's head found the pillow easily, her forehead throbbing, an unexplainable pain. This is no migraine, no headache. It was some new pain, the pain of why? The question "why" had been bugging her for days, nearly a week. Is anyone feeling this but her? Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could feel the blood on her fingers, see blood streaming on the front of her green birthday party dress. Her top the first day of school was green; that's when she thought they'd reconcile. Reconcile, sure, but now that wasn't even important. He was gone._

_The ride to the hospital tore her heart out. She thought holding him in the quiet street would be the worst, but no, them working on J.T. tirelessly was torturous. They must've strapped a billion wires on him, especially his chest. No breaths were breathed in the ambulance. She said nothing, waiting, waiting for a breath. A mask covered his face, eyes closed. Paramedics yelled terms she would've known if she wasn't in complete shock. She wanted him to look at her so bad, see that she believed he could be saved. He gave her so much comfort during their relationship, during the pregnancy, just by looking. Why couldn't she return this favor? _

_Every sound in her bedroom was so loud as she cried softly. The creaks of her bookcase, the shuffling of her feet, the mumbled voices coming from downstairs. Her parents were discussing her, as usual. How to help her grieve, what therapist would be best, the adoption paperwork that still needed to be done. They were more comforting than the lack of discussion when she came around the hospital corner, and Toby simply hugged her. Emma, Sean, and Manny joined them, and she felt the emptiness, knew the truth. Liberty felt her heart snap, like that finger trap could've. This was no joke._

"_Liberty...Liberty," said her mother's voice, softly. "I'm leaving...leaving you some food."_

"_And also, we wanted to talk. Um, there's some sessions at the hospital where...," started her father's voice._

"_No hospitals!" cried Liberty, in a harsh tone._

"_It's too soon, dear," she heard her mother whisper to father._

"_Yes...yes, of course," said her father. "Sorry. Could we come in?"_

_Liberty sits up, throws back her hair, which she lazily threw in a ponytail earlier. She stands, opens the door for her parents._

"_Porkchops, your favorite," said her mother, offering her a plate._

"_Thanks," said Liberty._

_The Van Zandts sit next to their daughter, Liberty's mother stroking her hair. The most sympathetic expression her father has ever given her lines his face._

"_We need you to tell us how to help you," he admitted. "We want to...so bad."_

_What a question to ask. She twirled her fork, stared at her plate._

"_This isn't going to go away," replied Liberty._

"_We know...just...," said her mother, her voice dropping._

_Liberty put her plate on the other side of her bed, takes both her parents' hands. She knew she'd been uncommunicative with them, yet they had to know she still loved them. J.T., shortly before he passed, admitted to Toby that he loved her. He still loved her. That's when her insides begin working like clockwork again, tears coming on full-force as she watched J.T.'s face fill the screen at the memorial service. You have to say how you feel, she thought. You have to say it before it's too late._

"_Trust me to be okay on my own," she said to them. "I definitely want you guys and Danny and everyone to be here. But...but no doctor can tell me I'll be fine. I'll feel fine...you know, I'll just feel it."_

_Mr. Van Zandt sighed, reluctantly nodded._

"_Then, that's what we'll do," he promised._

_True to his word, no doctors were called, and her family and friends huddled around her all the closer, throughout Degrassi, throughout her years at the University of Toronto. They saved her from falling, saved J.T.'s presence from fading. It meant more than all the honorary diplomas, daycares, and scholarship dedications._

And so did Zack, thinks Liberty, resting on her bed, flicking on the radio, which housed the CD she played the most.It took her years to track down this song, a rare song she located in an independent music store in Montreal. The lovely, deep voice sings:

_I took your ring that never comes off and put it on _

_Sorry to lose you, sorry to keep you_

_after you were gone _

_Nothing is small, nothing is unexpected _

_I want more _

_When I go this time I don't think I'm coming back _

The beautiful sadness, the melancholic beat, the tone of regret and silenced happiness comes across more real than ever. So does the image of the boy she nearly ran over. His countenance resonates clearer and clearer, face emblazoned in her mind. She's seen it before, staring at her with a confused look, nestled against a different blanket. He said his name was Zack. Her son. J.T.'s son.

_Desire's the element that I can't fight  
Dream is the arm of God  
Girl's looking for themselves in your eyes  
I'm looking for you  
What's this supposed to be some kind of perfect  
I want more  
When I go this time I don't think I'm coming back  
_

Liberty covers her mouth, immediately finds her phone. She plugs it in, hands moving on automatic.

III.

"Her best work," announces Ellie. "Complete with byline."

Ellie hands Zack a folder with a ton of news articles. He wondered why she'd taken so long. They were all arranged by date, a fat paper clip holding them together. He grinned at Ellie.

"Thanks," he says.

"Zack writes too," informs Paul.

"I'm...probably nowhere near as good as she is," says Zack, blushing. "Um, don't suppose my dad wrote anything?"

"J.T. was more...of the verbal variety," replies Ellie. "We weren't friends, but he was very outgoing, shared some jokes with me occasionally."

"Did you go to his funeral?" asks Zack.

Ellie frowns, looks away. "I went to the school memorial service. Funeral was more private."

As he and Ellie talk further, he views Paul hovering around a computer in the working area of the newspaper office. Paul points at the monitor, nodding for Zack to continue talking.

"So this guy Craig...who's he touring with?" says Zack, quickly. "Not some ancient rockers, hopefully."

"Uh, no, let's see...," says Ellie.

With Ellie distracted, Paul sits at the computer, types in a few things, Zack peering over at him on occasion. After the band names, Zack asked for the tour locations, and luckily, Paul is already printing out a page, shoving the paper in his pocket.

"Hey!" exclaims Ellie, hearing the printer in action.

"I touched it and it went haywire," lies Paul. "Crazy Canadian computers."

"Yeah, right," says Ellie, narrowing her eyes. "Look, maybe you guys should go. I hope you enjoy those articles, Zack. Tell Liberty I said hi. She got me this job, you know. Not directly, but yeah."

I'll tell her if I ever see her, thinks Zack. Paul awkwardly waves good-bye, pulls Zack outside the office, closing the door behind him.

"Give me it," whispers Zack.

"Not sure, man," says Paul. "Tough stuff to handle."

"Been handling tough stuff all weekend," argues Zack. "Cough it up."

Paul releases a deep breath, hands the paper to Zack. Zack takes it, reads.

School rivalry...stabbing...irreparable aorta...death. A murder. The murder the lady on the bus mentioned in this article, written by Ellie herself for Degrassi, and then some other paper called the Core. Zack closes his eyes, Paul putting an arm around him.

"Everyone was afraid to tell me," he says.

"To protect you, Zack," insists Paul.

This whole act of violence seems so preventable. Degrassi and Lakehurst. Isn't most violence preventable, though? He's not sure what he expected. A sixteen-year old dying is so tragic, never mind the way he died. Yet, the way he died, so awful. He was only four years older than him right now.

"Um," says Zack, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"You don't need to say anything," reassures Paul. "Let's call my uncle."

Paul locates his phone, both of them surprised when Zack's phone goes off first. Paul must've given him both numbers.

"Mr. Rubenstein?" says Zack into the phone.

"Hi, is this...is this Zack?" replies a sweet, female voice he fails to recognize.

"Yes," answers Zack.

"I'm...I'm Liberty," says the voice, softly.

"Liberty?" breathes Zack.

"You said you'd like to meet maybe?"

Zack swallows a lump in his throat, eyes going to either side of the Degrassi halls.

"I...I'd like to meet you," he manages to get out.


	9. Everything

**IX. Everything**

_You are the strength, that keeps me walking.  
You are the hope, that keeps me trusting.  
You are the light to my soul.  
You are my purpose...you're everything._

_How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?_

_You calm the storms, and you give me rest.  
You hold me in your hands, you won't let me fall.  
You steal my heart, and you take my breath away.  
Would you take me in? Take me deeper now?_

_How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?  
And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?_

_Cause you're all I want, You're all I need  
You're everything,everything  
You're all I want you're all I need  
You're everything, everything.  
You're all I want you're all I need.  
You're everything, everything  
You're all I want you're all I need, you're everything, everything._

_And How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?  
How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?_

**Last chapter, Here's To The Night is the property of Eve 6, and for this chapter, Everything is the property of Lifehouse.**

His father taught him how to loop ties; his mother taught him manners. They taught him everything, but everything is a lot to hold in your head. They took him to the park, the zoo, the joke shop, even Disneyland. When he cried, fell, laughed, they were around. No matter the feeling of today, they are his parents.

This is not a betrayal. It can't be. Zack Crewe will always be Zack Crewe, he thinks, tying a simple red tie around his neck. How many twelve-year olds can tie a tie correctly? Then again, he is Christopher Crewe's son. Yes, his son. He cannot forget that. Whenever he goes into the pawn shop, he's aware of that, customers talking over him, saying "Chris' son" or "how's little Crewe doing?" Unlike the things in his father's pawn shop, his name can't be taken from him. Though he has to admit, that whenever he saw an item in the store, formerly owned, the shine of it losing its brightness after awhile, he's reminded of himself. He feels some kinship with the violin left behind, housed in a window, waiting for a new owner, or a chair waiting for a new home. Those are part of the feelings that guided him out here.

The long mirror in the Rubenstein's guest bedroom shows him differently. He knows he's different. For the first time, he can tell where his eyes come from, why he can write, what his ethnicity is, all without wondering. He does wonder this: what is the price of the knowledge? Being aware of J.T.'s murder hurts more after knowing him. No one can say it doesn't, even if they've never met, because he's felt it. Maybe it's some biological connection, or chemical reaction, but he's entirely sure, it's emotional, so heavy and steady, like a waterfall. Definitely emotional.

Now, here is, ready to meet the one person he's fairly certain is going through the same thing. She suggested the Dot, and having no idea of the dress code, he decided to throw on a short, white dress shirt, black slacks, and a red tie, all courtesy of Paul's uncle's charity donation box. As long as the someone who gets it ain't me, he said, before sweetly handing it over. The pants were a bit tight, but perfect otherwise. At least the address was on Degrassi Street, a street he knew.

"Don't be scared," he tells his reflection, growing paler by the minute. "Lindsay Crewe is your mom. This...this is Liberty so..."

His voice trails off. These half-truths leave a bitter taste in his mouth. The fact is Liberty is his mom, as much as he talks or thinks about his routine life, of its permanence. Meeting her might shake it all up a little, right? Lindsay, in fact, would take this whole trip harder than Chris. She was so sensitive.

Zack reaches for the door knob to exit the room, sighing. He can no longer look at himself anymore. There's way too much to see.

II.

The last time she went to the Dot was...it must've been Emma's engagement party. Everyone was, of course, polite. The usual questions weren't asked, to her relief. Her least favorite: Are you seeing anyone? In context, the question made sense, since it was an engagement party, and Toby was married, Manny always had a boyfriend, and Sean and Emma were tight. She and her bachelorette status stood out. Needless to say, she found the party fairly depressing, despite projecting half-hearted happiness.

There's still no ring on her finger, as she straightens a loose-fitting, blue blouse, over a long, denim skirt. She looks a little young to be engaged actually, making a conscious decision not to dress in an intimidating fashion. Appearing too professional, or cold, might scare Zack off. She'd been perceived that way before, too cold, too business-minded, a robot. No today, unlike the engagement party, she'd be more approachable, or that's her plan anyway. Out of the two, she'd rather him have the visible nerves. That's what mothers do, right? They have this calming nature about them if the kid was terrified. Not being part of his life...well, this is something she can offer. She may've not been seeing anyone the day of the party, but she is seeing someone special today.

All the usual anxieties have run through her head, so much so that they're tired. Will he like me? Ugh, isn't that such a teenage question to ask in her twenties? She walked the halls of Degrassi, got teased occasionally about her clothes or hair, yet she rarely cared. No, only when her intelligence got attacked did she retreat into her shell. Today, though, it's everything. You kind of want your child to think you're pretty _and_ smart...and in this case, worth the wait. The other thing is, will he understand? She's sure he has some questions, questions no one else has answered. The one she's anticipating is the one anxiety that won't deaden: why did you give me up? When she hung up the phone, that's the first thought that came to her mind. She hopes he'll be willing to hear her answer.

Shouldering her small, black purse, she slides on her glasses, pats her straightened hair, which she got up early to fix, and makes her way out of the apartment. When she opens the door, she's met by warm, welcoming air.

III.

Gary Rubenstein sighs loudly, Zack having trouble avoiding the man's gut sticking out over his belt. Paul sits in the backseat, after having insisted Zack sit in the front. The whole thing is weird to him, because the car ride seems too long and too short at the same time. He likens the timing to a high school graduation, where you can't wait for it to end, yet it ends too soon. Then, the sad thought crosses his mind that J.T. never got to experience that feeling. Drumming his finger against his slacks, he bites his lip.

"You're cool, man," whispers Paul, patting him on the shoulder from behind.

"The worst meeting I ever had was with my ex-girlfriend," shares Gary. "She was on that show _Ready or Not_, played a teen model. Claims I gave her the clap. Not good."

Paul and Zack share a disgusted look, then Paul covers his face in shame.

"So trust me, it can be ten times more horrible," comforts Gary. "And...here we are."

Zack takes a deep breath, hesitantly gazes out the window. Huh? This place wasn't fancy at all. It appears to be some teenage hang-out, a bar and grill, sort of like Applebee's. He thought it was some classy one-name place with expensive food, like the Ivy. His uncle, Danny, sorta hinted that the Van Zandts were involved in politics and law, high-class jobs. Totally overdressed, moans Zack inwardly.

"You're...um, going to look a little out of place," says Paul, scratching his neck.

"Then it'll be like every day I've been here," sighs Zack, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Thanks, Mr. Rubenstein."

"Call me if you need anything," offers Paul.

The two boys pound fists, Zack leaving the car. Mr. Rubenstein says he'll be back in an hour, or sooner if Zack needed him and called him on the cell.

As the car speeds away, he views the Dot up close. Maybe his parents came here on a regular business. The restaurant didn't seem too new. A couple older kids point at Zack, chuckle quietly before going into the Dot. The tie...I can at least ditch that, he decides, hurriedly taking it off. He stuffs the tie in his pocket, takes a deep breath.

He goes up to the glass door, stares anxiously inside. There weren't too many people. She said she'd be there before him. Liberty. Should he call her Liberty? That's what she called herself on the phone. Hmm, what did his mother say about manners? You call younger women miss...you know, so they won't feel too old? Miss Liberty. That sounds too cornball. Calling her Mom...too soon, too awkward, too hard. Liberty...just Liberty. The sweat on his palms forces him to choose something, stop acting like some idiot standing stupidly in front of the door.

Stepping into the Dot, the cool air conditioning blows on his cheeks, cheeks that need it since he's sweating. Wiping his forehead, he glances around. The kids who laughed at him were in one booth, then there were two skater boys sipping smoothies at the counter, and one woman, hands pressed together, staring at the tablecloth. A woman he's seen before. Yes, this is the woman who accidentally hit him with her car. She looks prettier in the muted afternoon sunshine, long brown hair with blonde highlights, glasses shining softly, smooth tan skin. Her clothes are nice too, a pretty blue blouse and long skirt. She's a weird type of pretty, a pretty you might miss.

He wagers he better stop staring at her, or she might freak out like last time. Shyly retreating to the counter, he rests his hand against the top of it, heart speeding up. A server nods for him to take a seat, which he does. Taking a menu, he pretends to read, pretends to be cool.

IV.

Liberty's eyes scan the menu, as she flips it over, then over again, and over again. She waves off an annoyed waitress, who was getting upset that Liberty hasn't ordered yet. No, Zack had to be here in order for them to eat. Each time someone entered the Dot, the bell on the door rang, and she'd look up. Although after several rings, she became so frustrated, she stopped looking. Two laughing teenagers were her last vision. Perhaps Zack was somewhere laughing, laughing because he ditched her like he thought she'd ditched him.

The salt and pepper shakers gleam in the sunlight. Today's gorgeous, a perfect day to meet someone. She cheesily thinks, a day of sun to meet a son. Heh, Kwan would've failed her for that lame line. Kwan did like her haiku regarding J.T., which also mentioned the sun. _Smile like a sunbeam, height subordinate to his heart, makes me lie awake. _Yes, she still remembers the poem. His smile made her feel that way for six years, like seeing the sun. But no son, no Zack.

Another day where the sun was so unsettling was the day they prepared the chest. Once Derek suggested the idea, she got so excited, arranging it all. Finally, they could give Zack something. True, the chest wasn't a home, or food, or anything particularly grand. Liberty's mother helped her locate a simple, grey chest with enough room, and a reliable lock with a key at a department store. J.T. took the afternoon off to come to the ceremony. The proceedings went well, with Danny giving up his decals, J.T. his comic book, and Liberty a copy of the _Grapevine. _Derek, who admitted to feeling like a outsider, offered a Degrassi sweatshirt, a gift Liberty saw as fitting since Zack could've maybe worn it one day. One offer she enjoyed that day more than Derek's was J.T. saying he could help move to the chest to her mother's car.

"_I feel like we're in a video game!" shouted J.T. over the roar of their fellow students, talking excitedly about the upcoming summer. "Bob and weave...bob and weave! And I'm not talking hairstyles!"_

_Liberty weaved uncomfortably to the side, dragging the chest and J.T. with her. They narrowly missed hitting one girl, carrying a box of yearbooks. _

"_Watch it, guys!" cries the girl. _

_A few steps more, and they did bump into Paige and Hazel, faces buried in their compact mirrors._

"_Okay, does this hall need traffic lights?" groaned Hazel, flipping her hair back._

"_Well if you guys paid more attention to where you're going, and not what's on your face..." started J.T._

"_Pre-graduation make-up run throughs," defended Paige. "Of pictorial importance, so maybe you should approach with caution. Gets fairly intense.'_

"_As intense as that zit forming on your face?" joked J.T._

_Paige narrowed her eyes at J.T., bumped him as she passed him. Hazel did the same, shaking her head._

_Liberty laughed, nodded for them to continue. Luckily, they picked up a rhythm, with each of them getting a good handle on either side of the chest, one hand on the top and another on the bottom. She couldn't say they weren't a good team. They were always a good team. _

_To their mutual satisfaction, they managed to get to the front door, J.T. holding the chest to his body as Liberty opened the door. She saw her mom talking to Ms. Hatzilakos in a corner, as they moved to the car. Good. She hoped she could talk to J.T. without any interruptions. He'd been quiet during the treasure chest dedication, and she wanted to know why. When she told him about the idea, a smile immediately formed on his face. She thought, like her, he'd be eager to share a gift with their son. Their child would always have a part of them, no matter what happened. True, he may never open it, but he'd have it._

"_J.T., I hope you weren't weirded out by all this," said Liberty, propping open the trunk._

"_No...no, it was just...," stammered J.T._

"_Difficult?" guessed Liberty._

"_Yeah," said J.T. "You...you always have the right word."_

_Liberty grinned, as J.T. stared at the pavement. He was looking a little lost those days, and she'd been picking up on it for awhile, ever since he got out of the hospital. An image of J.T. stuffing dozens of pills into his mouth, fainting, body on the ground shook all her insides. He was desperate, frightened, totally out of it. That's why the adoption papers were a fraction easier to sign. Neither of them could give more than this chest. _

"_This was a good idea," spoke up J.T., situating the chest in the car._

"_I think so too," says Liberty._

"_Why...why doesn't it...um, feel like it's not over?" asks J.T._

_The question coated her heart with warmth. The last thing she wanted was for it to be over, for them to be over. Sure, all this had been extremely stressful, painful, depressing. Still, she was sick of regrets, of denying that she didn't care. That's why she drank that night, with Derek and Danny watching. They probably thought her a fool, but were too nice to say it. Only, she needed someone. She needed to see J.T., or their son, someone who was part of their spread out family. _

"_Cause we're connected," said Liberty, softly. "Always."_

"_You're not going to sing'We are Family' are you?" said J.T., smiling. _

"_I do have the better voice," replied Liberty. _

"_You do," agreed J.T., touching her shoulder._

_Liberty's eyes grew wet, glancing at the chest in the car. She thought her son might browse the items, never know the whole story of them. There's no sure way for her to know, and that's strange because she's used to relying on evidence and certainties to hold her up. The sunshine cloaks both of them, J.T. taking into her arms. One certainty forms in her brain, one certainty she can hold on to is that he'd be here to see her through._

_That's the thing, though. The cruel thing. Theories get disproved everyday, and the impossible happens when you least expect it. She never felt anything bad leading up to it...when Manny was making her up, when they wished her a happy birthday, when the first Lakehurst kids came through the door. The same was true when she left J.T. speechless, started walking in Emma's neighborhood under the clear sky that night. Those streets were clean, so clean, but the quiet...the quiet was so loud. Passing several cars, she glanced from left to right, out of instinct. Her father always told her to watch out for something unusual, something horrible waiting in the dark. When she was little, she thought that meant monsters, the most terrible sights she could think of, and at sixteen, newly sixteen, she saw the most terrible sight she could think of. Her yells seemed so quiet, like they weren't enough. Uncertainty came and knocked her over, the greatest uncertainty being if he even knew she was holding him._

_Two days before the winter break, she went to his home, confronting more uncertainty. Throughout the mourning period, his grandmother, Ms. Cooney, partly cut herself off from everyone. Liberty arranged the church funeral, and the memorial service with Toby. Grave preparations were handled by Ms. Cooney's pastor, and he was laid to rest without any fuss, a private event that included Ms. Cooney, Liberty, and Toby. Not much was said, and not much was done. They all comforted themselves by reflecting how many people came to the other two ceremonies, and agreeing that they were the only three that J.T. would want to see him actually go under the ground. _

_Ms. Cooney let Liberty in, gentle as ever. They sat on a faded tan couch. Liberty noticed the place was messy, refused to comment. J.T. was never an immaculate guy, but Ms. Cooney got on him for that, and usually kept a clean home. It was understandable why that wasn't the case then. _

"_Forgive the mess, dear," apologized Ms. Cooney. "These old feet don't get around as well as they used to."_

"_It's fine," assured Liberty._

_After ducking into the kitchen, Ms. Cooney returned, carrying a tray of cookies and a couple glasses of lemonade. Ms. Cooney's hand shook a little when she raised her glass, some liquid spilling onto her long, black skirt. She'd worn black for weeks._

"_Oh...oh no," she breathed, making a face._

"_I'll get some napkins," offered Liberty._

"_Fresh out," admitted Ms. Cooney. "There were...were some paper towels. In J.T.'s room. I was dusting earlier."_

_Liberty nodded, stood. J.T.'s room. She hadn't been in there since they discussed how best to break the news of her pregnancy to his grandmother. They told her as soon as they talked. _

_The door to his room creaked open, revealing a freshly made bed, open drawers, an empty closet, a bunch of boxes. Ms. Cooney had done more than dusting. Liberty swallowed a lump in her throat, located the paper towels. Her waist hit an open box, and she cautiously looked at the contents._

_She couldn't help but smile. Sitting on the bed, she went through the box. Election posters, when he ran for president in grade seven, his joke campaign. Then, some swatches, for one of their sewing projects. It figured he would keep something that reminded him of his natural gift. A couple programs from Dracula were under the swatches. All his friends' names were highlighted. There was a deflated whoopie cushion, trick gum, wax lips...jokes he left behind. _

"_You...you were gone awhile," spoke up Ms. Cooney, standing in the doorway._

"_Sorry," said Liberty, attempting to close the box quickly._

"_Leave it open," insisted Ms. Cooney. "I can't deal with another closed box."_

_Ms. Cooney sat next to Liberty, peered inside as well._

"_It's like...J.T. in a box," stuttered Liberty._

"_Well, honestly, I'd rather look at this box...then the box he was lowered into," whispered Ms. Cooney, putting an arm around Liberty._

"_I used to get on him for this type of stuff," said Liberty. "I loved him being playful, but I wanted him to be serious when he needed to be, you know?"_

"_Same here," said Ms. Cooney. "J.T. needed that, believe you me."_

"_He got mad with me...a couple times," confessed Liberty. "We...we were fighting before he...he died."_

_Saying he "died" hurt every time. Liberty stroked the edge of the box, tears forming._

"_Oh, you'd never know by the way he was around here," assured Ms. Cooney._

"_Really?" whispered Liberty._

"_He told me you were elected president again, with that little glint in his eyes. Said if you could get back to normal, he could, so he made up his mind to return to his show. And his work ethic...I swear I was looking at another Liberty. So dedicated to improving himself."_

_Ms. Cooney smoothed back Liberty's hair as Liberty wiped her eyes. _

"_You know, sometimes people meet people for a reason, Liberty. Even if you're apart, or they're taken from you, they leave traces of what you've meant to them, or they become better because they knew you and you, in turn, become better. I can't explain it. Some strange way the world works. But it happens. God knows, it happens."_

_Liberty let the tears flow, and her throat hurt so badly, from words stifled. _

"_Family will always be family," said Ms. Cooney, gently. "And I more than consider you family."_

_Liberty laid her head in Ms. Cooney's shoulder, losing all sense of decorum. This speech pushed away all those uncertainties, as she felt the security of someone who loved J.T. as much as her._

"_Promise you'll come see me sometime?" whispered Ms. Cooney, kissing Liberty's forehead._

"_I promise," whispered Liberty, hugging her._

The bell rings again, Liberty looking up. No, a very skinny girl comes in, heading for the counter. Hmm, there's also a boy at the counter...slight, a little less tan than she is, appears very nervous. Zack. Yes, it's him, has to be him. He looks as panicked as he did when she got out of his car to check on him. Zack waves off the same waitress who was annoyed with Liberty.

He's so small, she thinks. I mean, he looks healthy, and normal, yet so small. J.T. was always a little smaller than some of the guys, though. The eyes and profile match too. He has her hair, though, and the nose. The soft music playing throughout the Dot pounds in her ears, which also matched his:

Liberty's whole body tingles, but she manages to stand. She almost feels like she's weaving in the school corridors again, but it's now or never.

_You are the strength, that keeps me walking.  
You are the hope, that keeps me trusting.  
You are the light to my soul.  
You are my purpose...you're everything._

_How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?_

"Zack!" she calls over.

Zack immediately drops his menu, slowly rises from his seat.

V.

The woman called to him. What does that mean? Could it be her? Liberty? It was her, or else Liberty was late, and based on her friends' descriptions, Liberty wasn't a late person. Zack tugs at his shirt lightly, walks over.

_You calm the storms, and you give me rest.  
You hold me in your hands, you won't let me fall.  
You steal my heart, and you take my breath away.  
Would you take me in? Take me deeper now?_

_How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?  
And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?_

Say something, he repeatedly tells himself. Say something, say something, say something.

"Hello," says Zack, staring into her eyes.

She has really nice, welcoming eyes. Not his, but welcoming.

"Do you...do you want to sit?" asks Liberty.

"Yeah," says Zack, eager to get off his legs since he's about ready to fall over.

They sit at the table, Zack resting one elbow on there, then immediately taking it off. No, manners. Be polite. Show her you're not some ill-mannered punk raised by bad parents, because you do have parents, good parents.

"Thanks for meeting me," says Zack.

"No...no problem," says Liberty. "Um...do you always dress like this?"

"Uh, not really," admits Zack. "Is...is there something wrong with it?"

"No," says Liberty, quickly. "It's just...you don't see a lot of young kids in dress clothes."

Liberty hangs her head, Zack doing the same. This is some great conversation, with me having nothing to say. Zack remembers he hasn't shaken her hand to formally introduce himself. He hated when adults did that, but maybe he should? Reaching over, he knocks over the pepper shaker, gasps.

"Sorry...sorry," he says, reaching for it.

"It's okay," says Liberty, retrieving the shaker. "No one was harmed."

Liberty begins to screw on the top of the shaker, Zack watching intently.

"You know, if you leave it unscrewed for the next person, chances are they'd fall for it nine times out of ten," says Zack, laughing.

Oops, says Zack, covering his mouth. Now, that wasn't polite.

"Really?" laughs Liberty. "Well, we'll leave it unscrewed."

Zack smiles. "It's funnier with pepper, because most people can take a lot of salt. Ketchup's funny too, because it's globby. My dad blew a gasket when I did that at one of his boat club meetings."

"I hate boat club meetings," sighs Liberty. "My dad goes to those today, to hob-knob with the big wigs. You just stand around here with all these adults, who don't even acknowledge you."

"Seriously," groans Zack. "They act so obnoxious, talking about golf clubs and cars and what prep school their sons are off too. I don't say much anymore, because my dad makes me write these long, formal apologies whenever I do it."

"Your dad sounds strict," notes Liberty.

"Not too much," clarifies Zack, hoping she wasn't thinking badly of the Crewes.

"That's how it usually is," says Liberty. "It gets better as you get older. Trust me."

Zack lays his elbow on the table, now more comfortable. Talking with her isn't so bad, not bad at all. He does wonder when it won't be so easy.

"You're doing a project of some kind?" questions Liberty.

Okay, won't be so easy starting here, thinks Zack.

"Um, yeah," says Zack. "On...well, a newspaper article on comics, which is why I talked to Toby, and then...a family tree project."

"Oh," says Liberty, softly. "Find anything interesting?"

My dad was murdered, he thinks instantly. Yeah, what a thing to pop into your mind first.

"How you and...uh, J.T. were in high school," he replies, cautiously.

Liberty's gaze drops, and she tucks some of her pretty hair behind her ear. He can tell the next question that comes out is going to be big.

"You...you know how he died?" she says.

Zack avoids looking at her. "Yes."

"Is...is there something else you want to know?" asks Liberty.

Right then, he feels her skin against his, a gentle hand taking his own. She's going to make him say it? Honestly? She's going to make him ask why they gave him up? Zack takes his hand away, starts rubbing his eyes instantly. He's been strong so far. I can't cry, he encourages himself. I can't cry. But I am.

Scooting his chair back, he gets up suddenly, startling the both of them.

"I can't," he tells her. "I...I can't!"

He walks out of the Dot, hearing footsteps behind him. Laughter from kids heading in flood his ears. He needs some place quiet, running to a grassier area at the other end of the street. He sniffles, tears burning his face.

"Zack!" shouts Liberty.

"Get away from me!" exclaims Zack, hunching over, resting his hands on his knees.

"What's wrong?" asks Liberty.

"This is too hard," chokes out Zack, face growing red.

"I know..I know, but...," starts Liberty.

"No, you don't!" shoots back Zack. "No one does! Not my parents or Paul or anyone."

Liberty remains speechless, obviously wanting him to keep going.

"Everyone looks at me like I'm some freak, some ugly reminder that he's gone. Even you..you freaked out with the whole car thing," says Zack, managing to stand erect. "I'm this horrible reminder."

"No...no, Zack," comforts Liberty. "You're the best reminder."

Zack places his hand over his face, as Liberty holds him. This time, he can't push her away, doesn't have the strength to, or the desire. It doesn't feel like being held by a stranger, or a parent for that matter. More like a friend, or someone who could turn into a friend.

"Why didn't you keep me?" asks Zack, separating from her.

He's somewhat surprised to see she's crying too.

"Bad timing...incredibly bad timing," answers Liberty. "The adoption started off as open, and then your parents fell in love with you. Would you have wanted me to take you away from them?"

"No...they're...they're my parents," stammers Zack.

"Then that's where you should be," whispers Liberty. "Don't think for a second J.T. and I didn't want to, Zack. We were young, without any resources, very ill-prepared."

Zack rubs his forehead, starting to calm down a bit. Things in the pawn shop did go to people who could care for them, care for them better. Liberty was probably acting in his best interest, and he loved his family.

"I get it," says Zack. "Sorry...for running."

"I've run so much," gasps Liberty, drying her eyes. "So...no worries."

"Because it hurts," says Zack, simply.

"Exactly," says Liberty, smiling sadly. "That never works...cause he's still there. And you're here...I'm glad you're here."

"That's how it is with family, I guess," sighs Zack.

"Family is always family," whispers Liberty, hugging him again.

Zack returns the hug, beaming. He holds onto his mother, who's not really his mother, yet the hug is strong and sweet. He thinks of his father, who he's still never met, yet the thought makes him proud to be in this place, to have made this journey to where his father was.

VI.

"Of course, he'd be curious, Lindsay," whispers Christopher Crewe, tenderly putting an arm around his wife's shoulder.

"Lying to us?" whispers Lindsay. "To...to see her."

Zack hangs awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen, viewing his parents. Just as he expected, Lindsay took the news hardest. What he didn't expect was his confession, regarding everything. They greeted him so lovingly at the airport, he couldn't keep his guard up for long. When they came home, he spilled. It was probably a good thing, since he talked with Liberty about keeping in touch, including a possible trip with her to Vancouver to see Ms. Cooney, his great-grandmother. Ms. Cooney was in a nursing home now, which Liberty visited frequently in her college years. Sadly after Liberty's graduation, her memory started to fade, the beginnings of Alzheimer's. Still, he'd like to see her, if only for this time.

"That part...I didn't like either," admits Chris.

Zack clears his throat pointedly.

"Do you...do you guys hate me?" he says.

Chris closes his eyes, opens them, shakes his head. "Never."

Lindsay remains quiet, fixing his lunch. She always fixed his lunch, even though he was twelve and could buy his own lunch. He usually protested, but he takes it today when she hands it over.

"Mom, I'm sorry," says Zack, shouldering his bookbag.

Lindsay wordlessly hugs him, kisses his cheek. "You'll be late for school. Off with you."

He starts to say something else, but his father's look suggests he do otherwise.

"Love you guys, " says Zack.

"We know," says Chris, offering him a pathetic smile.

Taking the city bus was his idea. After riding the bus in Toronto, he thought this had to be about the same. Still confused over the trip, Chris agreed he could try it once. Seattle can't be as unsafe as D.C., where he grew up. The ride is a paltry ten minutes anyway. Today, his morning classes go by fast, and so does lunch. It's probably because today, he has to present his project, and word on the school step is Tanglewood would be dropping by. Yes, apparently, unsurprisingly, Veronica's project was going to be featured in some Social Studies district fair. Therefore, as he sits through the project later that afternoon, the display of South American facial masks and colorful costumes comes as no shock. He has to give her props.

"Excellent job, Veronica," congratulates Mrs. Daniels. "Tracing all the way back to your family's regal routes."

"Thanks, Ms. Daniels," says Veronica, then whispering to Zack. "What'd you think?"

"Um...masks were cool," whispers Zack, shrugging.

"_How will I know if she really loves me_?" sings Paul, chuckling behind him.

Zack tosses a pencil at his chest.

"Zack Crewe!" yells Mrs. Daniels. "Since you're so anxious to move, you can honor us with your report next."

Man, it was nearing the end of class, and Mrs. Daniels always pulled this. He secretly knows it's because if his presentation was a wash, she could just go over the homework instead, then dismiss class without feeling guilty. That only happened twice.

"Yes, Mrs. Daniels," says Zack, lifting his heavy backpack.

Mrs. Daniels gives him an expression of amazement, Tanglewood sharing the same face. They probably didn't expect him to have all this stuff. Paul stands, wheels the TV over to where Zack is. Lucky for him, Veronica showed a short DVD on tribal dancing.

Zack sets the treasure box on Mrs. Daniel's desk, and she shrieks as it makes a loud thud. Veronica giggles, along with the rest of the class. Paul takes his seat again.

"_Do not be fooled by its commonplace appearance_," starts Zack, impersonating the merchant in _Aladdin._ "_Like so many things, it is not what is outside, but what is inside that counts._"

The class laughs uproariously.

"Zachary, if you don't have anything...," begins Mrs. Daniels.

"No...I have something," says Zack, silencing the class. "Seriously, this weekend, I went to Toronto to meet my birth mom. This chest contains all my parents gave me. Until recently."

He sees the shock on several faces, including Mrs. Daniel's and Mr. Tanglewood's. Veronica smiles serenely.

"I found out a lot of things, including how my dad passed away. He was kind, humorous, understanding, a smart aleck, some stuff I think I get from him. My mom loves to write, is a good friend, and very practical, other stuff I think I have. What I learned most is...um, what was most important is that they are part of me, even if they gave me up. Part of my family tree, a tree I can't complete in a weekend. But rather than babble on, I'd like to show you my dad and read a letter from my mom. So meet my parents, J.T. and Liberty."

Zack clears his throat after saying this, inserts the DVD tribute, lets his father speak. He'd always have an audience if Zack could help it, people to love and laugh at him. He's happy when the class laughs as much as the on-screen audience, and with the second viewing, Zack loves it more. J.T. playing with other kids no longer bothers him, now that he's clear J.T. cared for him too. With the final picture, Zack presses stop, some kids groaning their complaint that it's over.

"My mom gave this to me before I left," explains Zack.

He peels open the envelope. Other things, such as the chest and the article on J.T., he opened in private with people who cared for him, like Paul and his parents. Today, he can open this without delay, feeling some silent support, an absent, though very much felt, Liberty.

"Zack," he reads. "Rarely do I run out of words, which I'm guessing is true of yourself as well since we're writers. I thought you should know, however, what a great person your father was from someone who loved him as more than a friend, more than a family member. To put it simply, he meant everything. He loved unconditionally, fought fairly, met each day with a smile. We should all be so lucky. You're lucky because you carry him with you. We both do. I look forward to getting to know you. Love, Liberty."

Zack folds the letters, smiles shyly.

"That's all I've got today," says Zack.

"Well done, Zack...very well...," stammers Mrs. Daniels, her voice trailing off.

The class claps loudly, Veronica the loudest. Tanglewood nods proudly, and Mrs. Daniels, to his surprise, is crying. Zack collects his things, goes back to his seat. He feels Paul pound him on the back, the school bell ringing.

They stand, Veronica and Paul on either side of him.

"Nicely done, Zachary," congratulates Mr. Tanglewood.

"Thanks," says Zack. "I...uh, still want that blow-up doll back."

"Get out of here," commands Mr. Tanglewood, frowning.

Mr. Tanglewood retreats to go talk to Mrs. Daniels. Paul chuckles.

"Say that trip wasn't a good idea now," brags Paul.

"And watch your head blow up...no," replies Zack.

"Whatever!" exclaims Paul. "Fine...make it up to me by going to another hockey game?"

"Doable," says Zack, giving Paul a high-five.

Harring Junior High students shuffle back and forth, getting their materials to go home. Zack does notice that Veronica is not going with them. In fact, she's hovering.

"Oh, the article!" guesses Zack, removing the comic book article from his bag.

"Oh...yeah, that," says Veronica, taking it. "I'm assuming it's well-researched, paying careful attention to grammar and spelling."

Zack rolls his eyes. "Duh."

"This may not beat your presentation," compliments Veronica.

What? Zack blushes, grinning. If Veronica, of all people, was impressed, he must've hit a home run. Might as well try for two.

"You...you want to go to a movie this weekend?" stammers Zack.

Veronica's eyes bug out, grasping tightly to the article. "Uhhh...like a date?"

"I don't know," says Zack. "Look up date in one of your dictionaries. I think...think you might be right."

"Okay!" exclaims Veronica. "I mean...have nothing better to do."

"Me either," lies Zack. "I'll...like pay and stuff."

Zack takes a huge breath, kisses her lightly on the cheek. Veronica grins, backs away, shaking her head as she leaves.

"Sweet," whispers Zack.

He takes out Liberty's letter, reading it again. Met each day with a smile, she said? Well, he'd end each day with a smile, some small way to remember his father, J.T. Yorke. He'd smile all the way home.

**Thanks so much for reading and your encouraging comments and criticisms. I hope this story makes you think fondly of J.T., and what he meant to his friends, and if we're ever introduced to him, his son as well. I really loved writing this, though I cried while writing parts of this, especially in this chapter as I felt so close to Zack by the end of this. **

**If anyone's wondering why his name is Zack Crewe, I just chose a well-known jokester...Zack Morris, from Saved by the Bell, and one of my favorite characters from a kid's book, Sara Crewe, who loses her dad and finds him again like Zack in this story.**

**J.T. will always be a character that touched my heart, so I hope this was fitting. Thanks!**


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